Son of Gondor
by grimlock
Summary: When the Fellowship is beleagered on Amon Hen, can Legolas be fast enough to save Boromir?
1. Fight at Amon Hen

Ok, first things first:  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, they all belong to the Great J.R.R. Tolkien.  
Secondly, I apologize if anybody else already made a story about this plot-line. I've not encountered one yet, but that obviously doesn't mean that there aren't any.  
Ow yes, English is my third language: all grammar mistakes are mine!  
  
Hope you enjoy this! R&R, please?  
  
Chapter one: Fight at Amon Hen  
  
  
Boromirs world had narrowed to the clashing of metal upon metal, the quick steps aside that saved  
one's life, the play of parry and attack. He was doing what he had to to repay his earlier  
deeds, he was fighting to protect the Hobbits. His 'little ones'. There was nobody there but  
him. Nobody else who could keep them safe, just him. And he desperately needed to make amends.  
  
He had tried it, he had tried to force Frodo into giving him the One Ring. It had been a moment of despair, when he tried it, but that was no excuse. For in that moment Boromir, first son of   
Denethor, steward of Gondor, had fallen. Fallen even lower than Sauron in his own opinion.  
He had betrayed not only Frodo in that moment, but all his other fellows as well. Merry and   
Pippin, now secure behind him; the loyal Sam; the brave dwarf Gimli; the noble Prince Legolas and  
... and his King, Aragorn. At this thought Boromir despised himself deeply.   
  
His sword cleaved through another Uruk-Hai, the movement trowing its corpse out of the way.   
Looking around he could see that he had killed a great number of the beasts already, but it did   
not seem to matter much. The other creatures still seemed plentifull enough and they were not   
ones to be deterred by their kins death. Ducking beneath a blow, the Man lifted his sword and   
ran the Uruk-Hai through.   
  
A gasp from the Hobbits was all that saved him from being beheaded as from behind another of his   
attackers swayed his weapon. 'Turn and parry,' Boromir thought to himself, all  
the lessons from his youth returning to him in these moments to aid him in his self-appointed   
task. He and his brother Faramir had been well trained in Minas Tirith, and it had saved his   
life countless times at different battles around the Realm that his father governed.   
  
But now it didn't seem that important if he lived or died, just as long as he could protect   
Merry and Pippin.   
  
Parry, attack, parry, attack. They were closing in on them, Boromir was vastly and horribly   
outnumbered, yet he continued to fight the assailants off. He wondered briefly where the others   
were, but that thought was quickly discarded as it would not come to his aid. He had blown the  
Horn of Gondor in the beginning of the fight, calling for help. But maybe the others were   
protecting Frodo and could not come. He did not want to wrong the Ringbearer again by taking   
his true friends from his side, so he fought on alone.  
  
Unnoticed by the Gondorian warrior, an Uruk-Hai drew his bow and notched an arrow. The black   
leader of the savage pack drew back the string. With a look of decided glee and superiority on   
its face, it aimed right for the Humans hearth. In its mind the ominous words of his master   
rang. "Kill all but not the Halflings. They are to be brought here, unspoiled and unscarred."  
But this was not a Halfling, so he could kill it. Noticing that the Human had not seen him yet,  
the Uruk-Hai felt triumph thrilling through it's body as he released the arrow which flew   
straight for its target.   
  
**********************************  
  
Notching another arrow, Legolas saw how an Orc was in close combat with Aragorn. Gimli swung   
his axe with the strength of a true Dwarf and felled another of the foul beasts. There were   
many, but despair did not get hold on the Elf. He trusted his own abillities as well as those  
of his companions. Even if they were to fall, it would not be a battle over wich these Orcs   
would brag. The earth was littered with their corpses, dark black stains at their sides where  
the blood flowed away.  
  
Having a moment of relative safety for himself, he let the arrow fly at the Orc that was putting   
pressure upon Aragorn, felling it. The Human didn't have any time to thank him though, for at   
that time, a strange sound was heard, echoing mightyly through the forest.   
  
The sound of a horn that summoned others to its bearers aid, that called out towards friends on   
their comrads behalf. It sounded again, it's tone urgently beckoning.  
  
"The Horn of Gondor." Legolas said. "Boromir." came Aragorns answer, before he dashed off to the  
Gondorians side. Gimli took down the last Orc, then turned to follow the Ranger as fast as his   
legs would carry him. Legolas, for some moments, didn't move. It wasn't because he didn't want   
to fight at Boromir's side. The Elf considered Boromir to be a friend, even though he could feel   
the Humans constant fretting over the Ring. He knew the heir of the Steward of Gondor was only   
trying his best to protect his beloved city and he had respect for that. It was something akin   
to what he himself had felt when fighting to keep his fathers land clean of Orcs, Wargs, spiders  
and the like.  
  
No what caused Legolas to stand still at this moment wasn't a lack of friendship towards the   
Human. It was the voice of the forest.  
  
Like all Wood-Elfs, Legolas often heard the earth and its living creatures speak to him. Mostly  
soft noises of comfort, joy, sadness or welcome; but a single time they would speak with words.  
And this was one of those times. Around him the trees stirred, though a mortal would not notice,  
bearing their message to him. "Run, friend, run. Your human friend is in danger, he needs your  
help." It was the stressing of the last 'your' that made Legolas suspect that Boromir needed  
aid NOW.   
  
Breaking into a run, the prince shot through the forest with the speed that only a Wood-Elf can  
muster. Hearing the forest urge him to go faster still, Legolas used all his strength to speed   
up even more. He thought he saw Aragorn briefly through the foilage, but couldn't be sure   
because of the blur his speed turned everything into. He knew he would only have one shot at   
this, the message had been too urgent for it to be otherwhise. Knowing he had to take in the   
scene before him in mere seconds and make a choice, Legolas took one of his knives out of its   
protecting leather encasing and sprang into the clearing where Boromir was still fighting off   
the Orcs.  
  
For a mere second, Legolas thought the forest had made a mistake. Then he noticed the drawn bow   
off the Uruk-Hai captain. And its intended target. Cursing loudly to himself, Legolas made his   
decision.  
  
**************************  
  
Minas Tirith that same time:  
  
Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Ruling Steward of Gondor sat in a chair high up in one off the many  
towers that the White City held. This particular tower however was off limits to anyone but the  
Steward, his family and his manservant. It was here that the Lord Denethor kept his own secret:  
a palantir, one off the lost seeing stones. When all the others were deemed to be lost, the one   
in Minas Tirith had never left its place, it had simply been forgotten. But not by all.  
  
Ecthelion had told his son about it's presence on his deathbed. He had never used it and urged   
his son to do the same. 'Maybe,' Denethor thought as he was sitting before it, 'if the times had  
not been so dark. Maybe then it would have been possible for me to obey my fathers last wish.'   
But Sauron had risen again and Denethor had desperately sougth a means to give him an advantage   
over the Dark Lord, so that he was able to keep his city safe.  
  
And he had found that what he needed. The palantir allowed him to see things: movements of the  
Ennemy, movements of allies, the dealings of people who didn't even know they were in danger yet.   
And still there were many times when Denethor wished he had never heard of the accursed stone.  
For even though he had his advantage, the price to pay for it was terribly high. His sleep   
became disturbed by nightmares that mirrored what he had seen by day into the night. He dreamt  
of large armies assembling against him, of his people being beaten into obedience even as their   
city burned behind them.  
  
And then there were the struggles in will with the Lord Sauron himself.   
  
Denethor sighed, feeling very old and tired. Getting a firm grip on himself again, he focused   
his mind on the seeing stone. Today there would be no fights concerning its use. He was not   
going to look at his ennemies, he was going to look for a friend. He was going to look for his  
eldest son.   
  
No message of Boromir had been received after the one that told of him passing through Rohan.   
Many months had passed since then, bringing no word of his son and Denethor had began to feel an   
anxiety whenever his thoughts strayed towards Boromir. So much that he had decided to use the   
palantir to find him.  
  
The stone remained stubbornly black for some time, then came into focus, the scene displayed a  
peacefull forest. Frowning, Denethor saw his son running, sword drawn. Boromir ran into a   
clearing filled with Orcs. He seemed to be defending two short persons, that Denethor would   
have mistaken for children if it weren't for their hairy feet. As his son blew the Horn, he   
imagined that he could hear it vaguely in the distance, the sound floating in through the small   
window.  
  
Denethor waited patiently for his son's companions to show up and defend him. Only when minutes   
had passed and no-one came, he began to panic. Was there nobody there to defend his son? The   
panic turned into dread as he saw a large Orc draw his bow and target his son. Boromir had not   
noticed apperantly and kept on fighting. The bow sung, the arrow headed right for its targets  
hearth. As his own hearth nearly stopped, Denethor saw his son whirl around, hearing the   
projectile that in mere moments would claim his life.   
  
Sudden knocking on the door caused a distraction large enough for Denethor to loose his hold on   
the palantir. The image faded as in his hearth a rage flared into existence. The one who had   
disturbed him had taken away his chance of seeing the final moments of his eldest and most   
beloved son. He would never see Boromir again. A deep desperation caugth hold of him, making the  
anger burn all the more.  
  
The knocking returned, this time accompanied by an inquisitive "Father?". So it was Faramir then  
Denethor reasoned. Glancing quickly at the stone, he wished fervently that the positions of his   
sons had been reversed. That Faramir would lie there in that faraway forest and that Boromir   
would be standing right outside his door, waiting for his permission to enter. Cursing whatever   
fate had decided to leave him with the son that cared for noting but what that wizarding fool   
Mithrandir said and take away the son that had been his most treasured belonging, Denethor called   
for his youngest to enter.  
  
Keeping his eyes on the black stone, he heard Faramir approach him. "My father, I'm sorry for   
the intrusion, but our scouts have reported a large movement of troups between Harad and Mordor.   
They will pass through Ithilien on their way. Maybe we could send a group to hinder their   
movements?"  
  
Unable to retain his anger any longer, Denethor lashed out verbally towards his son. "Yes, we   
could certainly do that. The former Rangers of Ithilien should be assigned to this task under a   
leader that we can miss here." Putting just the smalest amount of stress on the word 'miss', the  
Steward added, "Maybe you would care to lead them." A small smile graced the Lords lips as he   
saw his sons eyes narrow almost unnoticably. "Very well father," Faramir said evenly, "if that   
is what you desire, I will lead them." Denethor returned his attention to the stone. "The   
Council will determine your time of departure tomorrow. You are excused."  
  
As Faramir left, Denethor was surprised not to feel the wave of triumph he had expected.   
  
***********************  
  
Boromir could feel himself tire. All about him, corpses littered the forest floor, but it was   
not enough. They kept comming, screaching out their rage at him.   
  
Through a pause in the assault, he could suddenly hear something. It was a short 'twang' that  
strange enough reminded him of the noise that Legolas' bow made when the Elf let loose an arrow.   
The funny thing was that none of the Orcs he saw was carrying a bow. Daring a swift look around,  
he caught sight of the pointed messenger of his own death.   
  
The arrow was but seconds away from his hearth as time seemed to slow and Boromirs memories took   
him back to another battle, several years ago on the borders of Minas Tirith. He had been   
leading a company of warriors, fighting off a band of Orcs. Right after he had killed one of the   
last of them, he had seen an arrow as it was released on a Man that stood perhaps 3 feet from   
him. Boromir had shouted at him to get out of the way, but the Man hadn't heeded him. He just   
stood there, like he was frozen, eyes wide in surprise, unable to escape his own downfall. The   
arrow had pierced his heart moments later.  
  
Returning to the present, Boromir found himself in the same situation. He couldn't move,   
couldn't think clearly, could only accept the fact that he was going to die. Boromir, the heir   
to the Steward of Gondor was going to die, the Orcs would take the Hobbits and all of his life   
was in vain.  
  
A flash of gold and green appeared in the corner of his eye, the next moment something hit him,   
not with much weight, but with a terrible speed. Giving a yelp of surprise, Boromir went down,   
falling beneath the object that had hit him. Just before he fell to the ground, he heard the   
sound of the arrow that glanced off something and the cries of the Hobbits. As he hit the earth,  
the air was knocked out of him. Together, he and the person(?) that had thrown him of balance,   
tumbled down a small slope. Boromir felt a sharp tug on the band that held his Horn before it   
cracked and was left behind somewhere in the midst of their descent.   
  
As they finally came to a stop he glanced up, surpised to see Legolas on top of him. The Elf was  
panting hard, but struggled back onto his feet. The terrified screams of Merry and Pippin seemed   
to fade as if a distance came between them. Something that sounded like a curse in Elvish sent   
his gaze to follow that of the Elf. He swore beneath his breath as he saw the Hobbits being   
carried of like disobedient children, slung across the shoulders of two of the beasts. Another   
one had grabbed his Horn, that had been broken in their fall.  
  
The Elf and Man attacked together, desperate to free their small friends. A snarled "Kill them!"  
came from somewhere on the field and they found themselves beleagered from nearly all sides, so   
that they were forced to fight back to back lest they were instantly overcome.  
  
Furious at the lead that the capturers of the Hobbits got, the two slashed mercilessly at their   
ennemies, creating a true bloodbath. Yells from other directions finally announced the comming   
of Gimli and Aragorn. The combined effort of the four fellows proved to be too much for the   
Uruk-Hai to handle and after some time, Boromir was finally able to dispatch the last of them.   
  
Weary bejond words, they sank down, lacking the power to go after either Merry and Pippin or Frodo and Sam.  
  
**********************  
  
There you go, first chapter's finished. Maybe the second one will be a bit shorter :) Hope you enjoyed! 


	2. Hunting

Very sorry for the long wait in between updates. I hope you don't feel like killing me now :)  
I also fixed the little problem with the reviews, anyone can leave one now (hint, hint) and sorry for the trouble experienced by those who tried and couldn't last time. I know it's my own stupid fault. (I should slap myself for it).  
Any way, thanks to the persons who did review ( I mean it, it means a lot to me, especially the kudos) I love you guys/girls.  
On with the story!!!!  
  
  
Chapter two: Hunting.  
*************************  
  
Nobody was really surprised that it was Legolas who first found enough strength to stand up. "We must split up," the Elf reasoned, "two of us can go after Merry and Pippin, while the others can help Frodo and Sam to cross Mordor." Gimli and Boromir looked up at him with anticipation. Even though they were still tired, they knew that they could not afford to spend too much time before setting of to find either group of Hobbits. Only Aragorn sat unmoving, staring at the ground intently. Boromir suddenly broke the silence. "I suggest that Legolas and I go after Merry and Pippin, then Aragorn and Gimli can go with Frodo and Sam."   
  
Behind the statement were some very conflicting emotions. The Man of Gondor still felt that he had failed all of the Hobbits but he didn't dare go after Frodo, lest he was corrupted by the Ring again. He knew Aragorn was an experienced Ranger and would undoubtfully find his way, even in the dark and barren land of Mordor. As for suggesting that Gimli went with him ... He trusted Gimli, really, and he thought him to be a great warrior, but he would rather travel with the Elf. Legolas was a good fighter too, plus as an Elf he would have the skill needed to track the Orcs that had captured Merry and Pippin. Besides wich he really needed to thank him for saving his life.  
  
"We can't split up." Three pairs of eyes turned to where Aragorn still sat on the ground, taking in the calm statement. "I thought it to be a good plan." Gimli spoke up, "Is there anything I've missed?" Aragorn looked in the direction of the Anduin where, somewhere behind the forest and the flowing waters, the boat of Lothlorien would be lying on the riverbank. "I promised Frodo that I would let him go. None of us can follow him now, he needs to go his own way. Sam will be there for him when the darkness becomes too heavy to bear alone. We, however, need to stay faithfull to the other members of our Fellowship. The Orcs bore the signs of the White Hand, which means Isengard. We cannot allow Saruman to get his hands on our little friends. Not only would he mistreat them, he could also gain valuable information from them."  
  
Boromir felt his anger flare at the thought of his little ones in the clutches of that cursed Istari's creatures. A swift look at the others revealed that they were thinking the same, if he could make that conclusion from their narrowed eyes and the slight frown of concern on Legolas' face.   
  
"Then we must follow the Orcs at once." Gimli's voice cut through his train of thought. Aragorn, awakening himself from his dark mood, sprang to his feet, once again taking the responsibilities of leadership. "We must travel light if we are to catch up with them before they reach Isengard. Leave everything you aren't going to need behind." And so Boromir took out most of his warm clothes, flinging them onto a pile where his companions had thrown theirs. It took bare minutes to complete the task and then they set of to the south-west, following the clearly visible trail the abductors of their friends had left.  
  
The rest of that day, they ran along the trail, Aragorn leading them without faltering. The   
woods passed into great plains as they came to the fields of Rohan, but not a living soul halted   
them. As the night fell, there was a brief discussion about wheter to keep moveing, or to rest,  
but Gimli and the Humans were too tired to really keep going without a decent rest, even though   
they hated to stop for rest, because they knew the Orcs would not do such a thing. Legolas   
watched over them during the night.  
  
The next two days they alternately ran and walked, with little rest in between. During one off   
those walking periods, Boromir found hiself beside Legolas. Aragorn was a few paces in front   
off them and Gimli lagged behind, his breathing still troubled from the long run.   
  
"I think it's about time I thanked you for saving my life." Boromir said as he cast a sideways   
glance at the Elf. "It's quite alright, Man of Gondor." Legolas replied, before adding coyly  
"Besides I don't think poor Gimli would be able to handle it if he had just a cryptical Ranger   
and a 'crazy' Elf as companions." Boromir's mouth pulled into a smile at that comment. "Well,   
the House of the Stewards still owes you now, Prince off Mirkwood, whether you like it or not."   
  
For a while they walked in silence, then the Elf asked "Would you tell me about Gondor and your   
family, Boromir?" Completely surprised, the Man snapped his head in the others direction. "Why?"  
he blurted out. "You talked very passionately about them at Lord Elrond's council, and you are   
willing to fight for them. I was curious as to what could inspire you so." came Legolas' honest   
reply.  
  
Boromir looked at the ground some time before beginning. "Well, Minas Tirith, where I come from,  
is the capital of my country, as you will probably know. I live there with my father, Denethor   
the Steward and my younger brother Faramir. My mother died shortly after he was born. The two   
of us trained together, altough he was always more interrested in books and knowledge then in the  
'art' of killing ennemies." He stopped to look at Legolas. The Elf seemed interrested. "You   
like your brother a lot, don't you?" Boromir gave a snort, "Of course I like him, he means a lot   
to me. He is very diplomatic, so in a way we are the perfect team: he beats people in politics,   
while my prows lay on the battlefield."  
  
"Allright, enough talking," Aragorn called back to them, "let's make some speed again." As they   
began to run, a groan from behind revealed to everybody what Gimli's opinion of their trip was.  
  
The days passed quickly, without them getting closer to their targets. Despite the grave   
situation of their friends, Boromir felt like a weigth had been lifted from his shoulders. He did  
not know if it was the absence of the alluring Ring, or the frequent conversation with Legolas,   
but he felt considerably better than during the first stage of the journey. Even the shadow that  
Saruman had placed over them could not curb his intent to save his friends. He knew he had   
wanted to go home as fast as possible, but his loyalty still held him on this path.  
  
And then there was the Elf. In return for Boromirs stories, he had told some of himself. The   
Man had been surprised to learn that the Prince had two older brothers. But the fact that maybe   
bonded them the most was that Legolas' mother had died shortly after his birth and that he too   
had been raised without one. After some time, Boromir had the feeling that his brother and the   
Elf would be great friends, both taking deligth in knowledge over killing. Maybe he could   
introduce them to one another. If they ever made it to Minas Tirith that was.  
  
**********************  
  
Merry felt really bad when he was finally dropped on the ground. The last three days he had   
seemingly been constantly dragged or forced to run himself. The Orcs that had captured him and   
Pippin were anxious to complete their journey home to hand over their prey to the Istari that   
commanded them.  
  
At first he had been worried about Boromir and Legolas. He had seen them go down the slope, but   
didn't know if either of them had been hit by the arrow. He and Pippin had been fastly overcome   
without the larger members to protect them. The Hobbits had been separated, each one carried by   
an Uruk-Hai, with several of the foul creatures in between. On the few times they had stopped   
to rest, they were bound and forbidden to speak to each other. He could do nothing but hope that  
his companions had survived and would come looking for them.   
  
But maybe it was vain hope, because if they had survived, wouldn't they have to look after Frodo   
first? After all, his cousin was the one on whose shoulders the quest lay, and the most   
important one of their Fellowship. He wished he knew if Frodo and Sam were alrigth, but once   
again he couldn't be sure.  
  
A sudden yelp as Pippin was dropped next to him, made Merry come out of his rather depressing   
thoughts. Two guards were positioned closeby, the big monsters glaring at them with bleary eyes.  
  
Something was upsetting the band. They were even faster to snarl and snap at what came in their   
way than usual. Merry had heard some of the scouts being yelled at for giving away their   
position to people that were called 'horseboys' by the leader of the Orcs.  
  
Trying to shift unnoticed into an easier position, Merry quickly stole a look at Pippin, checking  
his cousin for any visible wounds. Like himself, the youngest Hobbit seemed relatively unharmed,  
but tired and stiff.  
  
"No," Lurtz' harsh voice hissed trough the trees under which they rested, "we can't move now.  
Those blasted horseboys will catch us if we moved over their fields during daylight. I have   
nothing against a fight, even if I would loose, but we have prisoners that have to be   
delivered to the Master. And I do not need to remind you what would happen if anything happened  
to the little critters."   
  
Some of the other Orcs cursed: they were trapped and they knew it. But still, they planned to   
put on a harsh fight.   
  
Later, under cover off the night, the riders they had been catching glimpses off, came suddenly closer. They shot arrows into the pack, bringing down the Uruk-Hai before they had the chance to fire back; then letting their steeds turn swiftly and dissappearing into the dark again. Lurtz was almost constantly snarling orders, keeping them together when some wanted to run.  
  
After about an hour and a half, the riders had either grown weary of their technique or brought down enough off them for their goal. Changing tactics, they attacked the Orcs, now wielding sharp swords and shields. The horses manouvered ever closer to where the Hobbits lay and the cousins began to fear for their lives.  
  
The guards that had been appointed to keep Merry and Pippin in the hands of the Orcs were now fighting along their fellows. Hard swings were traded and one of the riders fell and didn't stand up anymore. The fight moved constantly around them as they tried to keep away from the hooves that tread around them. Then, as if by some lucky chance, they had been placed out off the circle of danger, the riders that remained driving the Uruk-Hai away from them.  
  
Merry carefully looked up from where he had thrown himself over Pippin in an attempt to keep him safe. Seeing no immediate threat he sat up, quickly locating the fallen rider.   
  
"Pippin!" he whispered urgently, "can you move?" His cousin nodded and together they shuffeled their way to the still bleeding Man that lay dead on the ground. Merry moved around until he could reach the sword that had fallen from a powerless hand and placed his bindings against it. It was difficult and slow work, but finally he managed to cut his bindings. With free hands he lifted the sword, the tip still dragging over the ground because it was too big for him in his weakened state, and began to cut through the rope on Pippins wrists. Finally they were both free. But they had still to escape from the still raging battle. It wouldn't be good for them if the Orcs won and they found their prisoners without their bonds. But Merry wasn't entirely sure that the Man could be trusted either.  
  
"We have to get out off here." Merry hissed, looking at the battle raging around them. Pippin nodded, then pointed towards another part of the forest. "I saw a river there when we were dragged past. We could make for that and follow it into the wood to hide ourselves." Merry clapped his hand around his cousins shoulder. "Excellent idea, Pip! Come on then."  
  
Making their way on soft feet, they weaved through the Orcs and Humans, not being noticed because of their small frames and lack of noise. As they were nearly at the river, an Orc appeared in front of them, brandishing his sword. "Thinking of going somewhere now little ones? Lurtz will be very unpleased to hear this." it leared. Pippin and Merry, who had thought to be almost safe, cringed and stepped a few pases backward. The foul creature in front of them was recognized as the one that had taken Boromirs horn with it, seeing that it stil hung as a trophy around it's waist, although it was broken in two.   
  
As it lunged for them, the Hobbits let out a yell of fear and ducked from under its blow. Not expecting them to be that quick, the Orc tumbled forwards, his fet not finding any purchase on the wet and steep riverbanks as it fell down. It landed between the rocks in the bedding, thrust upon his own sword by the speed of its intended attack. The horn had slipped from him as he went down and sped down the river at a fast pace. Merry and Pippin stood still, staring after it, remembering the Man that had caried it for some moments.   
  
At last, Merry broke the silence. "It was going to take us back to Lurtz. We cannot stay here if he still lives. Come Pippin, we need to move on." And so the two wandered into the forest, carefully threading the grass on the riverbank, until at last they could not be seen anymore from the battlefield.  
  
**********************************  
  
So chapter two is finished. It became rather longer then I had anticipated and I can only hope you don't mind.  
Next chapter: Boromir and friends meet Gandalf and go to Edoras. And Faramir finds his brothers horn.  
Review please. (please?) 


	3. Not all that glitters

Here we go again. Third chapter is finally here!  
Before we continue, I would like to state that I still don't own any of the characters.  
I translated the dialogue of the books on some places so forgive me if these aren't exactly the correct words :)  
Also THANKS to all my reviewers :))  
-to twin03: thanks for taking the time to review and give tips, they're much appreciated :))  
-collegetwin: thanks for the offer, but MS Word has already offered to help me :)  
-to everybody else, thakns as well :)  
  
Here we go:  
  
Chapter 3: Not all that glitters...  
  
  
On the fourth day off their march, they could no longer see the Orcs in the distance. Correction, Boromir thought to himself, Legolas could no longer see their nemesisses. It mattered little though, for Aragorn led them without faltering from the trail. The Ranger was the first in the row, stooping sometimes to better read the clues the Uruk-Hai had left. He had found Pippin's brooch on a sidetrack and this revelation had strenghtened them all to continue on their trail.  
  
The sun was already high in the sky, shining down on the four who stood on a hilltop, when Legolas asked them to be quiet for a while. Aragorn cast himself on the ground, listening to it's vibrations. "Riders!" he said as he straightened himself. "Aye, riders," Legolas agreed as he sheltered his eyes with one hand. Boromir beside him could only see a moving spot in the distance, but he trusted his friends.  
  
"They must be of Rohan, if they ride these fields so openly." He reasoned. Aragorn nodded. "Those were my thoughts as well." he replied, then, turning towards Legolas, "Can you see how many there are and how far away?" The Elf made a quick count. "I see a hundred and five horses. My guess is that they are still five miles away." "Five miles," Gimli grumbled, "and we've no place to hide."  
  
Boromir shook his head. "We don't have to hide, they will not harm us. The people off Rohan are honourable, although a little weary of strangers." "And even more so now, I would think." Aragorn said, "They are trapped by Saruman. Even if they don't know the cause off it yet, I suspect they have encountered some trouble already. We better be cautious, or our friends are lost or at least beyond our help." "Then let us descend from this hill, where we stand out too much." Gimli suggested.  
  
Moving down the hill, they crouched in the high grass at it's foot, drawing their cloaks around them for more protection against prying eyes. As the riders drew closer, the beating off the hooves grew until it was audible for eveyone. Gimli tensed at the sound, but Boromir put a comforting hand on his shoulder, keeping the Dwarf down. Although he was familiar with some of the Rohirrim, he knew he would have to let Aragorn speek for them, since his aura would persuade them more then he could. And besides, Aragorn would be King of Gondor soon, he would have to deal with these people who protected one off his borders and had an ancient agreement with the rulers of the White City.   
  
So they sat in silence as the company of riders drew closer. Even when the first had already passed them by ( and Boromir thought he had recognized their leader as the cousin of the King) they did not move. As the last riders passed them , Aragorn suddenly rose to his feet, crying "What news, riders of Rohan?"  
  
As fast and easily as could be expected from people who have handled horses their whole lives, the riders turned their horses and, though no word was spoken, they formed a perfect circle around the four friends. Boromir noted that it was indeed, as he had guessed, Eomer that was leading the armed party. The blond man sat proudly on his horse, eyeing them wearily but also a little curiously.   
  
They halted suddenly, spears jutting out towards the 4 at regular intervals, some barely a foot away from their chests.  
At his side, Boromir could hear Gimli's low rumble of discontent.  
  
"Who are you?" Eomer asked, moving his horse a little further in their direction, "And what   
bussiness do you have in these lands?"  
Aragorn lowered his hood before he answered. "I am called Strider. We came from the North and   
are hunting Orcs."  
Eomer jumped down from his horse and handed his spear to one of his companions. He then pulled   
his sword out of it's sheat and stood right in front off Aragorn, eyeing him closely, though   
Boromir thought he saw curiosity flash in the other's eyes for a short while.  
"I nearly mistook you for Orcs, but now I see that you at least are not one." Gimli jerked   
under his hand at the insult, but Boromir clamped his hand more tightly around the Dwarf's   
shoulder, knowing better than to interrupt the conversation between the two leaders.  
"You do not know much about Orcs if you are persuing them in this manner. They were fast and   
well-armed, and there were many of them. You would have gone from Hunters to Prey if you had   
ever caught up with them." Eomer fixed his clear eyes back on Aragorn. "But there is   
something about you, Strider. This is not the name of a Human that you give, and your clothing   
is strange as well. Have you grown from the grass? How did you escape our watch, unless you   
are Elves?"  
  
A strangled sound came from Legolas' direction, as if the Elf was trying to hold back his   
laughter at the last statement. Boromir too felt compelled to laugh, despite the seriousness of   
the matter at hand. "I don't think Gimli will take that as a compliment." The soft words were   
nearly lost before they reached Boromir, but it was enough to bring a clear grin on his face.   
  
"Nay," Aragorn answered, a smile in his tone, "only one of us is." He indicated Legolas with   
his hand. "But we came through Lothlorien and the gifts and favour of the Lady accompany us."  
  
Eomer's look hardened, though someting of the curiosity Boromir had seen before flashed again.   
"So there is a Lady in the Glden Wood, like the old stories tell us!" he said. "Few escape her   
nets, people say. These are strange times! But if you are indeed in her favour, then perhaps you are also wizards and weavers of nets." Then he turned cold eyes on the rest. "And why do you not speak?"  
  
That was the drop for Gimli. The Dwarf wrenched himself free from the Gondorian and pulled out his axe, his eyes full of fire. "Tell me your name, Horsemaster, and I will tell you mine, and more." he snarled, setting his feet apart to better balance his weight in case he needed to strike.  
  
Eomer looked down on the Dwarf, angering him further. "It is costum for the stranger to give his   
name first, but I am Eomer, son of Eomund and am called Third Marshal of the Riddermark."  
"Well, Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark, let Gimli, son of Gloin, warn you of foolish words. You speak ill of what is far beyond the reach of your thoughts, and only a small amount of wits could excuse you." Gimli said, with a burning audacity.  
  
Eomer'seeyes flashed in rage and his men mumbled as they came closer around the Dwarf, sticking out their spears.  
"I would cut your head off with beard and all, 'master' Dwarf, if it were a little further of the   
ground." Eomer sneered back.  
  
Boromir moaned inwardly, knowing what was aboat to follow. He knew the Elf was a gentle being, but the most sure way to anger him was to threaten one of his friends. And surely the Elf had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow faster than Boromir could finish his thought. How in Valar's name Aragorn was going to get them out of this one, he had now idea.   
  
"He stands not alone," Legolas said, his voice holding a sharp edge, "You would fall before your strike toutched home."   
  
Eomer lifted his sword, making things look absolutely grim, when Aragorn intervined. "Mercy, Eomer." the man shouted, "When you know more, you will understand why you have angered my companions. We do not wish evil on the Mark, nor on it's inhabitors, be they man or horse. Would you not listen to our story before you strike."  
"Aye, i would." eomer replied, lowering his sword, "But wanderers in the Mark do well these days to talk less haughtily in these times of uncertainty. But first, tell me your true name."  
  
"First tell me who you serve." Aragorn said, "Are you friend or enemmy to Sauron, Dark Lord of Mordor?"  
"I serve only Theoden, King of the Mark, son of Thengel," Eomer replied. "We do not serve the Power of the Black Land, far away, but neither are we in open war with him. If you are running from him, you would better leave this country. We have trouble at all our borders, and we are threatened, but we desire only to be free, and to live like we always have. To keep what is ours and not to serve a outlandish ruler, for good or evil. In better times we give our guests a   
friendly welcome ("Imagine that", Gimli huffed, but only Boromir and Legolas heard.), but in these times uninvited strangers find us hard and hot-headed. Come now. Who are you and who do you serve? On whose order do you hunt Orcs in our territory?"  
  
"I serve nobody," Aragorn answered, "but the servants of Sauron I persue where-ever they go. There are few mortal beings who know more about Orcs, and I do not chase them like this with pleasure. They have captured two of our friends. In such a need, some-one who does not posses a steed goes on foot, and he does not ask leave to follow the trail. He does not count his adversaries either, except with a sword. I am not unarmed."  
  
Boromir considered Aragorn in those moments. What the man said seemed so right to him. They had know they would be outnumbered, but his guilt and a small amount of pride had not allowed him to think about it. Those things would be taken care of once they had reached their prey. Hearing Aragorn state the exact way he felt, made Boromir realise that their minds seemed to work along the same patterns sometimes. He wasn't against Aragorn anymore, not like he had been at the Council anyway. The Ranger had shown him respect, although he had not really done anything to deserve it. And during his near-death experience, Boromir had known that cristal-clear that he would have followed his King-to-be gladly. So when Aragorn unsheathed Andùril and proclaimed himself to be Isildurs Heir, Boromir stepped forward when he detected the disbelief in Eomer's eyes.  
  
Lowering his hood and drawing his power as oldest son of the Steward of Gondor around him, Boromir looked Eomer straight in the eyes until he saw that the younger man recognised him. "I can confirm this," Boromir said, his voice reaching all those gathered there, "on my honour as son of the Steward of Gondor."  
"Lord Boromir," Eomer exclaimed, "I am sorry, I did not recognize you. Boromir swept his eyes round, then fixed them on the rider before him again. "I vouch for my King-to-be. Aragorn has proven himself to me on numerous times. Gondor will thrive under his reign." From the corner of his eye he saw Legolas smile at him, content with the action he had taken.  
  
Eomer returned his attention to Aragorn. "These are truely wondersome times. Tell me, my lord, what brings you here. What doom do you bring us?"   
"The doom of choice." the Ranger said, "This you may tell Theoden: open war awaits you, whith Sauron or against him. Nobody can live now like they used to, and few will keep what they deem to be theirs. But for now, I would only wish for news. You have heard that we persue Orcs, who have captured our friends. What can you tell us?"  
  
"That you do not have to chase them any further." Eomer replied strongly, "The Orcs have been destroyed."  
"And our friends?"  
"We have found only Orcs." Boromir felt a stab of dissapointment and despair at this statement.  
"This is really strange," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "Have you searched the fallen ones? Where there no other bodies than those of the Orcs? They would be small, no more than children in your eyes, unshoed and clad in gray."  
"There were Dwarves, nor children."  
"We do not speak of children," Gimli cut in, "our friends were Hobbits."  
"Hobbits?"  
Gimli explained the curiosities of their little friends, but Boromir barely heard. How could the riders have missed the little ones?   
  
During his thoughts, he felt Legolas place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do not despair yet, my friend. We may yet find them. They may have missed them with their cloaks on. The little ones can be very clever at times, I'm sure they found a way out."  
  
Aragorn talked a little more with Eomer, who by then had sent his men further back to have some privacy. He heard the ranger mention Gandalf, and another stab of loss went through him. He missed the old Wizard.  
  
"I will lend you three horses, for that is all I have. If I cannot convince you to go back with me to Edoras, I would ask you to bring back the horses if you are no longer in need of them, for that would prove to my King that I have judged you rightly."  
  
"We will," Aragorn answered while he mounted, "until then, farewell Eomer of Rohan." Boromir mounted another horse, and Legolas and Gimli took a third one, who's saddle and briddle (much to the Dwarf's dismay) had been removed as the Elf had asked.  
  
As they galloped away and Aragorn bent once again to the trail, Boromir looked back at the Riders whishing he would soon go back home again as well.  
  
**************************  
  
Minas Tirith:  
  
Large steps carried him through the corridors of the palace. The peolpe that saw him threw him concerned glances. It was a rare sight indeed to see the youngest son of the Steward with such a grim face. Normally, Faramir was the gentlest person in his family, being calmer and less interested in his own pride. But today an inner turmoil was tearing him apart and his composedness was nowhere to be found. Arriving at the large Hall where his father held audiences and debated with his coucil, he asked the guards to announce him. The young man looked quite meiserable when he explained that the Lord Denethor ad forbidden them to let anyone enter during this meeting, even his own son.  
  
Sighing, Faramir accepted defeat and seated himself on a bench where he could see if the assembly ended. He should have expected this, considering his fathers behaviour towards him these last few days. He had been treated like a total stranger, leaving him to wonder what it was he had done that displeased his sire so.  
He was confused at this, so confused indeed that sleep had eluded him these last nights. Felling restless and trapped in the great city, he had offered to take on a part of the nightwatch their people set at the river Anduin. He had found a little peace during those quiet, moondrenched moments, but that had been abruptly splintered this night.  
  
On the stream, floating towards him as if destiny wanted it thus, was the Horn of Gondor. With trembling hands, he lifted it from the stream, holding the two pieces in the clear moonlight.  
His mind whirling, he had leapt onto his horse, charging back towards the City. He couldn't help but feel that if he presented the broken heirloom to his father, Denethor would explain everything to him.  
  
He would tell him what it meant for his brother.  
  
Boromir had been gone a long time now and only one message had they received that spoke of his well-being. And now he sat one the bench in the light of the noonhour, being jarred from his worried thoughts by the opening of the heavy doors, the shards laying swathed in his cloak on his lap.  
  
When the councilers had left, Faramir entered the now emptied room, finding his father at the head of the table, going through some papers.  
"Father." Faramir said after waiting a few moments for the Steward to aknowledge his presence. Denethor looked up, seemingly annoyed, raising an eyebrow in question.  
"Father, I need your council on something the River has brought to our shores. You know many things that are far off, perhaps you can solve this riddle." And with that he unpacked his precious burden and placed it on the papers in front of the Steward.   
  
Pale but still fairly composed, Denethor outstretched a hand to rest lightly on the artefact that he himself had once carried with great pride. Under his calm exterior, rage welled up once more. It was not right: his favourite son died miles away, abandoned and friendless, and his youngest, the one that felt more for an Istari than for his father, survived. And now Faramir stood there, daring to present the signs of his brothers death.  
'Would that he had died in Boromirs place.' he thought, rage and grief consuming the love he held for his youngest.  
  
"You should go pack or rest, if you were on watch at the River." he said, his tone emotionless, masking his true feelings, "Your company leaves for Ithilien an hour before the next sunrise."  
"Father, please, ..." Faramir started to plead fervently, but trailed off when Denethor returned to his papers. His father knew something, something serious, but he would not share it with his son. He had seen this mood before and knew that prodding would only anger the stoic man before him even more.  
He bowed and left the room.  
  
Early the next morning, Faramir received the ritual blessing from his Lord and father before leading his warriors to Ithilien. And though his outer behaviour did not betray him, the heart of the youngest son of Denethor was weighed down by both sorrow over his fathers coldness and by despair.  
  
For Faramir was afraid that the broken Horn heralded the death of his beloved brother.  
  
Silently, the company began their march towards the looming Shadow.   
  
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So that's it for this time, hope you enjoyed.  
Review please!, (pretty please?) 


	4. Old friends

Hello ,and once again, sorry for the long wait:( I know, I knwo it's very irritating, but I'm trying my best and the muses just wouldn't cooperate this time.  
  
Anyway, thanks everybody for reviewing (they really make my day!) and here's the fourth cahpter, hope you enjoy this :)  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 4 : Old friends  
-----------------------  
  
Almost until the end of the noon they rode on in silence, Aragorn bent over the trail that would take them back to the scene of the fight between the Rohirrim and the Uruk-Hai. Arriving at the forest's end, it was not hard to see where the Riders had burned their ennemies. A great fire had been set burning in a clearing, the last embers were still giving of smoke. Swords, arrows and what more lay scattered around where the Orcs had let them fall.   
  
"We had better search the area for any signs of our friends." Aragorn said, dismounting. Boromir pulled his horse up alongside Legolas'. His lips curled into a carefully hidden smile when he saw Gimli clutching hard to the Elf. Dwarves were no riders and Gimli had no love for the high position he was in. Sliding down from the saddle, he went over to the couple. "Here, master Dwarf, let me help you down." The Dwarf cast him a look of gratitude and as the Human put him back on the ground he immediately went to Aragorn, grousing under his breath about horses and Elves who insisted on riding without saddles or reigns. Legolas dismounted easily, then spoke softly to his horse. The grey animal strode some paces away to graze at the forest's edge. Boromir's own horse joined it as the two strode over to the middle of the clearing.   
  
The four companions sought for clues about their little friends until the sun had disappeared and they no longer had any light to see by. "Well, it doesn't seem like we can do much more for anyone today." Gimli remarked, "It is most likely that Merry and Pippin have been burned with their captors. I do not rejoyce in having to give this news to Frodo or the old Bilbo." "We cannot be certain of that yet." Boromir half-pleaded for someone to say he was right. "We still have some places we need to look at." Aragorn agreed, "And we could not leave before the sun returns."   
  
Camp was set under one of the trees that lined the battle-field. The night was beginning to grow cold and they huddled close to one another. "Aragorn," Gimli said, "we could have much use of a fire. I am too cold right now to care about any Orcs that might see it." Aragorn looked thoughtfully, but Legolas chose the side of his Dwarven friend. "It may bring the   
Hobbits to us if they went into the Forest and got lost." Boromir lifted his head, a hopeful gleam in his eyes, and Aragorn relented. "Very well, but do not cut living wood from the trees." "I have no need to." Gimli stated as he went around the clearing, picking up twigs and branches, "The riders have left enough for us to enjoy a good fire."  
  
So by the Dwarfs talents, they soon sat around the fire. "Even the trees are glad with your skill, master Dwarf." Legolas noticed, pointing to the branches overhead that seemed to bend to catch some of the warmth of the flames. "I have heard many stories about the forest of Fangorn in my city." Boromir said, "Tell me Aragorn, what should we believe about this place?"  
"I know only what Celeborn has told us: that we should be cautious about it. Fangorn holds it's own secrets, but what they are, I do not know." "Well whatever they are," Gimli said, "there is nothing we can do about it tonight. Let us go to sleep and worry about it in the morning. I never knew horseriding to be so exhausting."  
  
Boromir plucked some twigs from among the firewood Gimli had collected. "Let's see who is up for the first watch." he quiped playfully, reaching out the straws in his hand towards Aragorn. "Leaders first." Aragorn pulled out a twig and Boromir moved towards Legolas, who took out one for himself. Gimli muttered as he held the twig he had chosen. It was definetely shorter then those of his fellows. "Gues I had it coming for me." he said as the others rolled into their   
blankets, falling asleep almost immediately.  
  
It seemed only seconds to Boromir before he was roughly awakened again. Something had pulled him out of his sleep. Looking around for the source of the commotion, he saw Aragorn and Legolas were also awake. The Ranger approached what appeared to be an old man in grey garb. "Well, old man," Aragorn said as he got to his feet, "what can we do for you?" He walked towards their visitor but the man had disappeared without a trace. Boromir was startled at this, but did not get the chance to word his confusion. "The horses are gone." Legolas exclaimed.  
  
They stood together for a time, defeat washing over them until Boromir spoke. "We will go   
further on foot. The horses of Rohan are well trained and will find their own way back home. As for us: we've come a long way on foot already, I do not doubt that we'll be able to make the next part of the journey like that also." It would be tougher he knew, but he himself had made the trek to Rivendel mostly on foot after he had lost his own horse at the crossing. "Humpf," Gimli muttered, "Feet! You cannot walk on feet that are not rested." Legolas laughed "Only hours ago you didn't even want to sit on a horse. We'll make a Rider out of you yet, my friend." Boromir grinned at the undignified look on the Dwarf's face.  
  
They sat back down, pondering what had happened. "If you ask me," Gimli announced, "I'd say it was Saruman. Gray robes and a hat certainly suits Gandalfs description of him." "Perhaps," Aragorn replied, "but regardless if it was Saruman or not, we should be careful: danger is near. I will keep watch for now. I need to think this through." The others nodded and went back to sleep.  
The rest of the night passed peaceful, and Boromir was only awakend to take over the watch from Legolas. He hoped the horses would return now that the treath seemed to be over, but his watch passed without incident. He thought of his city: if Saruman had betrayed them, the Wizard would be able to effectively stop any help from Rohan to Minas Tirith. Boromir silently cursed the Istari that had been the cause of so much trouble lately. Finally, when the morning's first light fell over the forest, he woke the others.  
  
Breakfast was an unusually silent matter that morning, everybody was too eager to solve the riddles that held them there. After a careful inspection of the ground, Aragorn announced that he had not been able to find a trace left by the old man. "Aha," Gimli exclaimed, "it's like I thought! Our visitor was Saruman." "Maybe," Aragorn said, "but it is of little concern at the moment. We need to search for our friends now. Spread out from the clearing into the forest." They split into couples, Gimli with Aragorn and Boromir with Legolas. Taking opposite directions from their campingplace.   
  
Boromir and Legolas worked in silence. The Human did not know much of tracking, and the little he knew didn't reveal any signs of the Hobbits. He cast a look over at Legolas to see if the Elf had more luck. His companion squatted some feet away, examining some marks in the earth. He felt Boromir watching him, and looked at the Human, slowly shaking his head. Boromir sighed and continued his own search. After a while, Aragorn called for them to join him.  
  
The Ranger showed them the mallornleaves, rope and knive that Gimli and he had found near the River. "This is a strange riddle indeed." Legolas said, raising an eyebrow at the things before them. "I wonder how they came here with their hands and feet still bound. Maybe they turned their arms into wings. So all we need to do to find them now, is grow wings ourselves."  
  
Boromir turned towards Legolas, but his grin died away as he saw Legolas' serious expression. The Elf couldn't really expect them or the Hobbits to grow wings, now could he? Despite the fact that Legolas and he had become good friends, there were still times when he was uncertain if the Elf was serious or if he was just kidding. At times like these he wasn't certain if he could ever understand the Immortal.  
  
Aragorn didn't quite share Legolas' beliefs, providing them with a much more acceptable explanation. "It is not unimaginable that they were caried here by one of the Orcs. We should find more if we follow their tracks further into the forest." He sprang to his feet and led them on, following the River for some time more, then moving deeper into the forest itself. Boromir felt the forest press down on him. Legolas felt it too, but he reassured his friend. "Be at ease, Boromir. The forest does not wish us evil, it is only watchful." Boromir was a little more relaxed atfter those words: Legolas was a Woodelf after all. If anybody knew the intentions of a forest as strange as this one, it would be him.   
  
They came to a rockside with roughly carved steps that led up it. "Let us go to it's top." the Elf suggested, "maybe we can see more from up there." Mounting the steps, Aragorn stayed a little behind them, looking closely at the ground. "What is it Aragorn?" Boromir asked, "has somebody else climbed these steps recently?" "Aye." the Ranger said, "And I'm almost certain that the Hobbits have come this way. But there are other tracks as well, tracks that I haven't seen before."  
  
Standing on the ledge that their friends had used two days before, the Fellowship looked out   
over the terrain in front of them. "We have made a great detour towards a place we didn't want to visit." Gimli said, "We had no intention to come to Fangorn, heeding Celeborn's advice." Legolas' spoke, his gaze fixed on something between the trees that only he could see. "Yet now we are here, and we seem to be caught in it's webs. Look!"  
  
"Look where?" Gimli asked, "I don't have Elvish eyes." Boromir and Aragorn peered intently   
into the forest, but they couldn't see anything either. "Keep your voice down." the Elf said, then pointed between some trees. "Look, there where we came from. Can't you see him   
moving from tree to tree." Boromir could see him now, clad in gray, moving slowly in their   
direction. "I see him now!" Gimli exclaimed, "Quickly Legolas, draw your bow, do not give him the chance to strike first!" But the Elf was reluctant to do anything. Boromir understood him: there was something about this figure that went beyond his understanding. "What are you waiting for?" Gimli asked. "Legolas is right. We cannot just shoot an old man, without provocation."  
  
The old man sped up his pace, mounting the steps quickly. The others moved some in their   
nervousness. Gimli moved in front of the group, Legolas and Aragorn behind him, and Boromir   
stood out of sight on the last row. "I only wish to speak with you," the old man declared, "put your weapons away, I'm not going to harm you." Legolas almost automatically lowered his bow, and Gimli stiffened. Then the old man made a movement that revealed his underlaying robes and a flash of white garb could be seen.   
  
"Greetings!" he said, "It is very strange to see a Dwarf, a Man and an Elf here in Fangorn. But I know the reason for it: you are here to look for your Hobbit friends. Well on, they came up here two days ago and met someone they didn't expect to meet. So your mission isn't that important as you thought anymore, let us sit down and talk some." As he turned away, the spell he had seemed to have cast upon them dispelled and Gimli flew into movement. "Saruman," he yelled, aks in hand, "talk, where have you hid our friends!"  
  
The old man proved to quick for him, jumping onto a rock. He stayed out of their range, throwing open his cloak. "Mithrandir!" Legolas yelled, shooting an arrow into the sky out of sheer joy. Gandalf opened his mouth to reply, then caught sight of Boromir. He seemed to pale for an instant, not knowing what to say. "Gandalf, are you alright?" Boromir asked. "You are alive!" the Wizard remarked incredulously, "But I saw ..." "Saw?" Aragorn said, frowning his brow at the peculiar behaviour of the Istari. Gandalf shook his head. "You thought I was dead?" Boromir asked, "We thought the same of you!"   
  
"Well apparently, you are both still very much alive." Aragorn said sarcastically. "Now I can understand why Boromir isn't dead, but we all saw you fall down that chasm, Gandalf. Would you explain to us what happened." "Do not speak of this." their friend replied, "I do not wish to linger on thoughts of that fight. Suffise to say that I defeated it, and went to find you. But as for Boromir ... how is it that you are still alive when the Lady Galadriel's mirror showed you only instants away from death. If I'm not mistaking, you came very close to the wrong side of an arrow!"  
  
Boromir chuckled. "Aye, I did. But our favorite Elf here saved me." he admitted, putting an arm around Legolas' shoulders and pulling him closer. "Of course I would have liked a more gentle approach in it ("Hey!" Legolas protested, shoving Boromir's arm off.) but I'm still glad for his help." "Indeed." Gandalf said, raising his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Well," he then added, seeming to come out of his temporary stupor, "then we are all accounted for are we not? Merry and Pippin are with the Ents, You four are here, and Frodo has gone to Mordor." "With Sam." Legolas said. Gandalf nodded, "With Sam, which is very good news."   
  
He drew himself back onto his feet. "But for now, we have used up all the time that is given to old friends to meet each other again after a long time. We must head for Edoras, for I must talk to King Theoden at once. And I do believe you have some horses to return." "The horses!" Legolas said, smiling, "You know about them?" The Wizard smiled softly as they moved to the edge of the wood again. He gave a sharp whistle and they could hear the thundering of hooves in the distance. "Yes, I know of your horses. They met mine not far from here. We will need their aid to get to the Golden Palace of the Rohirrim. There they come!"  
  
And indeed, four horses came their way: the three they had borrowed from Eomer, behind a strong silver-coated one that led the way. "This is Shadowfax." Gandalf explained, "The horse that took me to Rivendell for the council. He will lead us to our destination. Come Gimli, you will ride with me!"   
  
They mounted their horses with a newly found determination. Boromir felt sure of their road again: Gandalf had come back to them, the Hobbits were safe and they were moving towards Rohan, the trusted ally of his people! Let the darkness try to take me again, he thought, I will not fall again! Then they were off, Shadowfax setting a straight course to it's home, and Boromir hoped it would not be too long until he as well could see his White City once more.  
  
  
---------------  
  
There you go! The next chapter will see our heroes in Rohan, and probably of to Helm's Deep!  
Also I'd like it a lot if you could take some time to review the chapter since it was a pretty though one to write ;)  
Until next time! 


	5. Trouble in Rohan

Thank you all reviewers :)) I really enjoyed your comments :)  
  
to collegetwin: well here he is Boromir in Rohan ;) Tell me if you liked it!  
  
Lady of Legolas & Princess of Mirkwood : is there going to be a ? I think I know what you mean, and it was intended as one, but the there was this stupid removal of nc- 17 and I decided not to. But if you keep asking me ;)) I may actualy rewrite it to be one, but then I'll probably post it somewhere I can go all the way :))  
skahducky: thanks! really appreciate it .  
  
Elf Wench : this soonish enough? :))  
  
Kelly: naaah, Faramir is just going to have to suffer a little more, the poor guy. But it'll be one hell of a reunion :))  
  
Ruth: I trie to make my chapters nice and longue, but you got to stop somewhere right? :)) Thanks for reading!  
  
So I still don't own any of them, and here's chapters 5:  
  
Trouble in Rohan  
*****************  
  
  
  
It took the five travelers two days more, but then they stood above their intended target. Some miles of still, the Golden Hall of the Rohirrim stood, shining in the early sunlight. Boromir couldn't see movement as of yet, but he did not doubt that Meduseld was well garded, even though it did not appear thus from where they waited.  
  
"Tell me, Legolas, what you can see down there." Gandalf asked. The Elf obeyed, shadowing his eyes with a hand. "I see a wilver river, running past a great building wich appears to have a golden roof." he said. "It seems that all are still asleep within the walls." "That is Edoras." Gandalf said, "Home to King Théoden. We must be cautious: I do not think that everybody is still asleep, although I would seem like that from afar." With a look at all of them, he added "It would also be wise to not speak haughty words before we have reached Théoden's throne."  
  
Boromir exchanged a look with Aragorn, silently agreeing that they could be humble, if only for a while. They rode further, past the great mounds that were standing in honour to the fallen Kings of earlier times. At cthe gates, they saw that there were indeed guards, even at this early hour. When they saw them, they lifted their spears and blocked the road into the city.  
  
"Halt, strangers!" they called out in a language that Boromirwas familiar with. It was the Rohirrim's own speach, one that few outside their kingdom understood. Boromir glanced at the others. Aragorn had no problems understanding the message, and neither had Gandalf, but the Elf and the Dwarf seemed a little at a loss. "Who are you, and what is your business here?" the guards demanded. Their gaze was suspicious and even a little angered as they looked at Gandalf.  
  
Gandalf continued the conversation in the same language, showing clearly that he was no stranger in these lands. "Very well do I understand your language, though few strangers do. If you seek answers it would be better to speak in the Common Tongue." The guards drew themselves up. "It is the will of King Théoden that none but those who speak our tongue are allowed entrance to the city in this time of war. Who are you to come riding to our gates on horses that look like our   
own, and strange clothes? Tell me, are you a wizard or one of Saruman's spies?"   
  
"We come to return the horses that were lent to us by Éomer, just two days ago, as we promised. Has he not returned to tell of this?" As a concerned look entered the guards eyes, Boromir's suspicions that something was wrong at the Golden Hall were confirmed. He had seen a little of it on his journey to Rivendell, when he had passed here, but his mission had been urgent and he could not afford to stop and investigate then. He had hoped that Théoden, who was a wise King, would be able to deal with it. It seemed things had only gotten worse these last months. 'This is bad.' he thought. The Rohirrim had always been one of the strongest allies to Gondor. If they fell, the White City's defenses would be diminished greatly. He hoped Gandalf would somehow get through to Théoden.  
  
"I have nothing to tell you about Éomer." the guard said, "If what you say is true, I do not doubt that the King has heard of it. But maybe your comming here was not totally unexpected: it has been only two nights since Wormtongue came to us, saying it was the King's wish that no stranger would pass this gate." Boromir narrowed his eyes at the name. He had seen this so - called advisor: a bleak man with dark eyebrows who seemed to plot constantly. He had stayed away from the man when he had been here. So he was the cause of these problems!  
  
"Say nothing more." Gandalf said. "My message was not meant for Wormtongue but for the King himself. I am in a hurry, would you not go tell the him that we have arrived?" His ancient eyes seemed to nearly pierce the guard, and he agreed to go quickly. "Wich names do you wish me to give him?" A small smile played around the Wizards lips as he said "Gandalf, Boromir, son of Denethor (the man's eyes widened as he caught hold of the oldest son of the Steward of Gondor), Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the Elf Legolas and the Dwarf Gimli, son of Gloín. Now go tell your King that we wish to speak with him, if he will allow us to enter his gates."   
  
"Strange names you give!" the guard exclaimed, "I will go to announce your request, but do not hope for the answer. These are dark times." And with that the guard dissapeared into the gates. Boromir felt a nudge into his side. Looking to his right, he saw Legolas raise an eyebrow at him. "What was that all about?" he asked, keeping his voice low. "One of the   
advisors of the King, someone who everybody calls Wormtongue, has apparently clouded the King's good judgement. Ganadlf has aked for our admittance into the city, but the command is that only those of Rohan itself, and people from Gondor may enter freely. Keep an eye open for this Wormtongue, my friend, I believe he will give us trouble yet." Legolas nodded, determination in his eyes, and they both focused back on the gates.   
  
A few moments later, the guard reappeared. "Follow me," he said, "Théoden grants you leave to enter the city. But every weapon that you have will have to be left at the doorstep. The gatekeepers will guard them." The dark gates were opened and they followed their guide in. At the top of the hill, steps led to the door of Théoden's 'palace'. On the topmost step, two chairs stood, hewn out of stone. The guards who resided here stood up, armor gleaming in the sun. Their guide left them there. "May the King of the Mark show you mercy!" he said before leaving.  
  
While the five ascended the stairs, the gatekeepers rose, silently watching them. When Gandalf reached the terras, they drew their swords and presented them, hilts first, to the travelers. They spoke a greeting in their own language, then repeated it in common. Boromir saw Legolas and Gimli relax slightly now they could understand what was going on around them. One of the guards stood in front of his companions. "I am Háma, the Doorkeeper of Théoden." he said, "I must ask you to lay aside your weapons here, before you can enter."  
  
To Boromir's surprise, Legolas was the first one to lay down his bow, quiver and knives, although with a warning to treat them cautiously, since they were a present from the Lady of the Golden Wood. The Gondorian had thought that his friend would be a little dubious of the command, since not all Humans were known to be so friendly against his kind. But Legolas, it seemed, trusted his friends to keep him safe.   
  
Even more amazing it was to him that the one who did cause trouble, was Aragorn. The soon to be King apparently had no wish to be separated from his sword. "It is against my will to lay down Andúril, or to give it in the hands of someone else." "It is Théoden's will." Háma replied. "I do not see that the will of Théoden, even though he is the King of Rohan, should be thought higher than the will of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elendil's heir of Gondor." "This is the house of Théoden, not of Aragorn, even if he was King of Gondor on the seat of Denethor." Háma nearly snapped, while swiftly turning his sword so that the tip was pointed at the strangers.  
  
Boromir moaned inwardly. Of all the times Aragorn could have pulled rank, he had to choose this particular one. The tension in the air was thick enough to be cut, Legolas was shifting nervously beside him, eyes darting around. Gimli's fingers tensed around the hilt of his axe, although he didn't draw it out yet. Gandalf started arguing with Aragorn, but the Ranger wasn't about to give up yet.  
  
Stepping in front of Legolas, Boromir drew his sword and handed it, hilt first, to Háma. Unbuckling his shield and drawing out his hunting knife from it's place in his boot, Boromir surrendered these also. "Here you have my weapons, good guard, keep them safe." Háma stared at him for a while, then gave him a short bow. "It will be as you ask, Lord Boromir." he said with a smile, "It is always good to have one of our allies from Minas Tirith visiting." Boromir returned the smile. "It is always good to be here." "Well, if Boromir's sword can stand here without shame, so can my axe." Gimli said, handing the weapon to Háma. "And you shall also receive my sword." the Wizard said, giving Glamdring. Aragorn sighed in defeat, seeing that all the others complied with Théoden's command, he unbuckled his sword and put it against the wall. "I'll leave it   
here," he said, "until I come back. Be aware that everybody who draws Elendil's sword, but his heir, will die." "If everything is to your wish now," Gandalf said, "you can let us in to speak with your Master."  
  
But Háma didn't move. "Forgive me," he said, "but I must ask you to hand me your staf." Now it was Gandalf's turn to be cross. "I am an old man." he said indignantly, "If I am not allowed my staf to lean upon, I will stay here until Théoden comes outside himself." Háma looked at him with narrowing eyes, then proclaimed "I believe you to be a friend, and therefor I will let you keep your staf, because I do not think you are here to harm anyone. Come, you may enter."   
  
The great doors swung upon, revealing a long, dark room with tapestries along the walls and a throne on one side. They passed the woven cloth that Boromir had so admired when he first had seen it. It displayed Eorl, sitting high upon his mighty horse, riding to battle. Gandalf pointed it out to the others, before continuing past the great fire to the dais upon which the throne stood.   
  
Théoden sat on his throne, but the difference between the proud King he had seen some months ago and the bowed figure that was residing there now was painfully clear to Borormir. As was the reason to this change. The cousilor called Wormtongue was perched on the highest step at the King's feet, looking over the strangers with plotting eyes. Éowyn was there as well, caring for Théoden, as was her wont. There was a sparkle of hope in her eyes as she looked upon them, hoping for someone to break through to the man she loved as a father.  
  
The long silence that lay between the 2 groups was broken by Gandalf. "Hail, Théoden, son of Thengel! I have returned, for the is approaching and now all friends must be united, lest they are defeated one by one." Théoden fixed his gaze on the Wizard as he slowly stood. "Greetings, " he said, "and maybe you expect hospitality. but to tell you the truth, your welcome here is dubious, for it seems to me that you come yet again to announce doom. I will not mislead you: I was glad when I heard that you did not return with Shadowfax. And I was even more pleased when Éomer told of your demise. But news from afar is seldom true, so there you are again, and with problems trailing at your heels. Then why would I welcome you, Gandalf? Can you answer that for me?"  
  
Aragorn flexed his shoulders, and Boromir caught the movement. As for himself, he vowed that the creature that sat on the steps, looking awfully satisfied with itself, would pay for daring to trick the King into believing all those things. As he imagined something concerning his sword and the foul councilor, Wormtongue spoke.  
  
"You speak very rightly, Lord. Why not even 5 days ago we received the bitter news that your son, Théodred had fallen in battle. There is little confidence in Éomer, for there would be very few left to defend the city if he would be allowed to rule. And now we have received news from Gondor that the Dark Lord has risen again. Why then would we welcome you, if you choose such a time to return, master Storncrow. Láth-spell, I call you, ill-news. And ill-news is a bad friend, as people say."  
  
'That's it,' Boromir thought, 'if I have the chance I will try Faramir's approach. I'll beat him with his own words!' Wormtongue smiled slyly, raising his heavy eyelids for a moment to survey the strangers. A smirk of contempt crossed his lips as he caught sight of Gimli and Legolas. The Elf tensed at his side, and Gimli seemed very displeased about having had to leave his trusty axe behind at the door. Boromir laid a hand on the Elf's lower arm, whispering "Don't mind his looks, he is not worth it." Legolas narrowed his eyes, but relaxed his muscles a little.   
  
"You are considered a wise person, friend Wormtongue, and are undoubtly a great support for your master. But there are two ways in which a person can bear ill tidings. He can be an instigator of evil, or maybe he comes only when help is needed, to lend his support." Wormtongue gave him a smile of victory. "But there is also a third kind." he said softly, "Those who stick their noses in the sorrow and and suffering of others. Birds of prey, becoming fat from war. What help have you ever brought, Stormcrow, and what help do you bring now? You it was, who asked for our help the last time. And you could choose a horse and in your unashamedness, you chose Shadowfax. It was a high price to pay, but according to some, not to high to see you leave the country. I have no doubt that is the same now. What help do you offer? Sword? Spears? That I would call help, that we crave at this moment. But who are these people that follow you like dogs? Four shabby wanderers in grey and you the worst of all!"  
  
Boromir stepped forwards before Gandalf had the chance to stop him. He threw open his grey mantle, revealing himself in the light that shone through the hole in the roof. "Are you calling the eldest son of the Steward of Gondor a beggar?" he asked in a deadly tone. Wormtongues eyes grew as large as they could probably get, as he stared in horror at a factor that his scheming did not include. He knew he had made a terrible mistake in offending one of their allies like that, and his mind was racing to correct the damage before it had time to crack the spell his words had held Théoden in.   
  
Boromir recognized the look of slight panic in Wormtongues eyes and decided to press his advantage. 'Faramir will have a good laugh at this.' he thought, 'His battle-loving brother beating someone in wits, instead of knocking him down with the flat of my blade.' He ignored Wormtongue and adrressed Théoden directly. "My Lord," he said, "your realm is in danger. I myself have seen the foul creatures of Saruman running through it without your permission. And with the help of my comrads I have come to warn you. I would fight by your side in this battle, King Théoden, before I return home to my own city, knowing that yours is safe. You cannot delay much longer, your people at the Westfold are suffering!"  
  
Théoden cast a glance at Wormtongue. "Is this true?" he asked. Wormtongue let his eyes dart around frantically. "There is   
a battle at the Westfold, my Lord, but I'm sure your people have it under control." Théoden looked about to agree with his councilor when Boromir interfered again. "Would you have your son die for nothing, Lord? Théodred fought hard to keep his people safe, and now you would abandon them?"   
  
Théoden started back as if he had been hit physically. He shook his head dazedly, keeping his eyes fixed on Boromir, who, for a second, thought that he had gone too far. Then he heard Ganadlf speak. "It is not too late yet, Lord. I have much council to give you, if you are willing to take it." Théoden looked around again, then he stood and moved down to go to Gandalf. Wormtongue stood up and grabbed the King' arm, stopping him from descending. "Do not listen to them, my King. They are schemers, aided no doubt by the Lady of the Wood, as Éomer told us."   
  
Gimli shot straight at those words, and, had Gandalf not restrained him, would probably have done something very foolish. "The wise only speak of what they know, Grima Wormtongue." the Wizard said, his anger barely contained. "I have not come here to exchange words with an unloyal servant until the lightning strikes!" With that, he lifted his staf and a white light flashed at the place where the counsilor stood, seeming as if lightning had come straight through the roof. When he no longer saw black spots, Boromir appraised the scene in front of him. Théoden stood still on the dais, Grima lying on the highest step, face-down and unmoving.  
  
"Weel Théoden, what say you?" the Wizard said, all sound of treath gone from his voice, "Would you listen to the advice that I can give you?" Théoden nodded and went down the stairs. Boromir couldn't help a smile from showing on his face. Gandalf had convinced the King to listen to them, soon Théoden would control his own thoughts again . . . and he could take care of his 'coucilor'. "Open the doors!" the Wizard said, "The King of the Mark is coming out." Once again the gates opened wide, letting in the morningsun.   
  
Once they stood on the dais, Boromir could see that the last strands of daze had left the King's eyes. "It's not so dark out here." Théoden said. "Nor does your age weigh so heavy on you as you think." Gandalf replied. Théoden looked out across his land, then turned to Gandalf. He sighed "But I am still old, not even you can cure that." "Maybe you could remember your strength better if you would hold your sword again." Théoden moved his hand to his hip, but didn't find his sword hanging there. "Where has Grima put it?" he asked himself. "Take this, Lord, it has always been at your bidding."  
  
Éomer stood at the top of the stairs, kneeling before Théoden and presenting his sword, wich the King took, albeit reluctantly. Then he lifted it high, crying a warcall in his own language. His guards came rushing towards him, drawing their swords and laying them at his feet. "Well Gandalf, you said you had some council for me." Théoden said, smiling slightly at the Wizard. "You have already taken it, by putting your trust in Éomer, in stead of in someone with a twisted mind. But there is still much of what we must speak." "Perhaps, but I would feel better if I had my own sword again. Háma ! Fetch my councilor and my sword, please." The guard nodded, then went back into the palace.  
  
After a few moments, he reemerged with the pale creature at his heels. From where he was standing, Boromir could only understand fragments of the conversation, but he saw that Théoden was obviously no longer willing to take for granted everything that his coucilor told him. "You have a chance to prove your loyalty to me, Grima. Théoden suddenly said. "Ride to battle with me, and prove yourself worthy, or depart now, but know that I will not grant you mercy at our next meeting." Grima looked like he was going to say something, but then his posture went rigid and he spat at the fet of the one he had been trying to corrupt. He then sprinted down the stairs.  
  
Boromir saw him go, and looked longingly at his sword. The fiend would pay for corrupting the King and insulting his friends like that. But he could wait until they would meet again. Smiling to himself, Boromir added this little point to his mentally built 'to do' - list.  
  
"Come now!" Théoden said, "I invite you, my guests to eat and drink with me, before we ride to battle." And with that he sent a few messengers to call upon the young men that lived close by to arm themselves and get ready to fight.  
  
Boromir, Legolas and Gimli followed back into the Golden Hall for a much deserved breakfast and lunch. "A fight," Gimli quitely said, trying to mask the anxiety in his voice, "I bet these Riders can put up a good one if they wish it." Boromir laughed, "Aye, that they can!" he said. "You better watch your back this time, Boromir." Legolas told him, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "I may not be around to stop some . . . stray arrows." And with a laugh, the Elf dodged the playfull blow that the Human aimed at his arm. "One day, Elf ... " Boromir treathened jestingly. Then they all laughed and entered the doors.  
  
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Whiiiiiiiiiiiii! Next chapter brings the Battle at Helm's Deep! I promise!  
For now, did you like?  
Review please! They always make me happy! 


	6. Helm's Deep

Sorry for the long wait everybody :( But I have an excuse: I went to Paris, and I have to study for my exams. Anyway, here's the big battle scene :) I hope you guys like it.  
  
But first: tx for reviewing, those little things keep me alive :)  
  
Kelly: nice you liked the Boromir/Aragorn - look . I thought to make them good little boys ... for a while :)  
  
Aislynn: Thanks for reading the story, but I'm afraid you're going to have a little patience before Boromir finally reaches Gondor. I have some plans for him when he gets there though :))  
  
collegetwin: thank you for the advice on the paragraphs, let me know if I've improved :)   
  
Debby: Yep, we're still going to have a little fight between Lurtz and Boromir. Nobody tries to kill the oldest son of the Steward of Gondor and get's away with it :)  
  
skahducky: here's your battle! Let me know if you liked it!  
  
Lady of Legolas & Princess of Mirkwood: the comment get's mailed to me :) Indeed, A/L is overrated, and Boromir should 'reward' Legolas for saving him so ... *wicked grin*  
  
Anne-Marie: Boromir will have to go on without his brother for some time still, but the reunion will be spectacular, I promise! :)  
  
And now, without further ado ...   
  
Chapter 6: Helm's Deep  
-----------------------  
  
Boromir stood in the arch of the gate that controlled the access to the Golden City of Meduseld. At his left stood Legolas, one of his hands absently stroking Arod's mane. Together they looked out towards their destination, the planes around the stronghold in the Westmarch of Rohan. Gimli stood a little further, beside Éomer, who had asked him to ride with him, as a token of friendship. They waited for Gandalf, Théoden and Aragorn, who had been making last-moment preparations.  
  
Finally the Wizard and his company emerged from the city and called their horses to them. The King of the Mark was cheered at by his people and mounted his own horse. Boromir janked himself up as well, taking his place beside Legolas. Then, with a load thumping of hooves and a fierce warcry, they were off.  
  
Gandalf and Théoden rode first, followed by Aragorn and Éomer, who had Gimli behind him, and then came Boromir and Legolas. The two talked a lot among each other for the rest of the ride, mostly about things they had once seen or done. An occasional comment came from the Dwarf, when he had gathered enough courage to let go of Éomer with one hand to look behind him.  
  
That night the three sat close together for some warmth, although Boromir suspected that the Elf mostly did it for the company. He had never seen Legolas shiver once, not even on Caradras. He chanced a quick look at Aragorn, seeing him sitting next to Gandalf.   
  
"He feels his destiny pulling at him." Legolas observed from his place on the ground, his gaze also on the Ranger. Boromir nodded. He suspected that Aragorn would be in for a very rough time, the last days of his 'normal life' and the first days of his kingship. Cracking a light grin, Boromir realised that he didn't mind that much anymore that Aragorn would rule his people in his stead. Not that he wouldn't have tried to do as good a job at it as he possibly could, but meetings with councilors had always been boring to him. Imagine a Ranger, used to the outside and freedom, sitting in a meeting like that. It was enough to make him feel very sympathetic towards his King-to-be.  
  
Nothing happened that night, but everybody was weary, and not much sleep came to any in the entire host. When the next morning dawned, they were awoken from a fitfull sleep by the ringing of trumpets. The air was heavy around them, and tension seemed to be a living thing, crawling around them.  
  
"I wish we would meet something, instead of this uncertainty." Boromir muttered to Legolas when they had ridden for some time. The Elf turned understanding eyes towards him, and Boromir could well imagine that his friend felt the anxiety that hung over them still more heavily because of his attunement to the world around him.   
  
"It will not be long now." Legolas answered looking around him.   
  
Suddenly Gandalf came up beside them. "Tell me what you see, Legolas, in the direction of Isengard." Boromir raised an eyebrow. If the Wizard was concerned enough to ask for help, things were looking gloomily indeed.  
  
"There are many miles between here and the Tower." Legolas answered, as he stood up in the stirrups. "I can see a darkness. Great shapes are moving in it, far away by the shore of the River, but I cannot see what they are. Something other than fog or clouds is blocking my sight. It feels as if a conceiling shadow lies across the land."  
  
"And behind us a storm from Mordor approaches." Gandalf sighed, "It will be a hard night indeed."  
  
A little after the midday, a rider came from behind them. He was spotted by the rearguard and brought before Théoden, reporting the grave situation they had been forced into. As Théoden reached the decision to help his people as swiftly as possible, Gandalf nudged Shadowfax to the fore.  
  
"Protect the Lord of the Mark whilst I am away." the Istari told them, "Wait for me at Helm's Deep! Farewell!" And with that the great horse galloped of, leaving them behind.   
  
Boromir and the others now left the road and went south. Not stopping for the night, they rode further until they reached Helm's Deep, lying in a great green dale. Before they reached the Burg itself, Legolas turned in his saddle, looking backwards, focusing on something behind the army.  
  
"What is it?" Boromir asked, his hand almost automatically reaching for the hilt of his sword.  
  
"They are behind us." the Elf answered softly, "I can almost hear them comming." And indeed only a few moments later, their scout came back, harried by arrows. He told of the great army of Orcs and Wild Men that was heading towards Helm's Deep.  
  
"Let us be quick then," Éomer admonished, "We'll cut through any ennemies there might be between us and the stronghold."  
  
For the next hour or so they road on, until finally they came to the Hornburg, where they were stopped by the guard on the wall.  
  
"Who rides to Helm's Deep?" the cry went out from the wall.  
  
Éomer answered him. "The King of the Mark does. I, Éomer, son of Éomund, speak." The guards murmered approvingly and let them in. The army moved inside the walls, securing the horses and then taking their positions on the walls.  
  
Boromir stood with Gimli and Legolas. The Dwarf was voicing his happines at being rid of the horse and being able to put his axe to use on some Orcs soon. "This is much better than a horseback." he grumbled, stamping on the stone. Suddenly his face twisted into a wicked grin. "Come, master Elf, let us play a game this night."   
  
Legolas and Boromir exchanged a quick glance. "What game?" the Elf asked curiously.   
  
"A warrior's game." Gimli answered, still with that grin plastered on his face. "Whoever kills the most Orcs and other creatures of Saruman wins. It shall prove to be an interesting sport. So, what say you? Shall we play?"  
  
Boromir laughed. "Agree with him on this, Legolas. I should surely like to see this peculiar game." The Gondorian knew this game: it was one he had frequently 'played' with the men of his company back in Minas Tirith, and even sometimes with his brother. It was hard to guess at who would be the victor in the play between Dwarf and Elf. They both had their advantages and disadvantages. The Dwarf was strong, but because of his posture his reach was somewhat shortened. Legolas was strong as well, and had the advantage of his flexibility and speed, but the Man thought that he would be hindered by the sheer idea of having to kill somebody, even if they had fallen into darkness.  
  
"Fine then," Legolas said with a smile of his own, "let us play this game. It will surely make this figth pass more quickly."  
  
The battle began a little before midnight, fires running over the plains in front of them. The rearguard of the people of the Westfold stopped them, but were driven inside the walls themselves. The storm Gandalf had forseen came a little later, soaking friend and foe alike.   
  
The army of Saruman stood amassed before the great walls, cheering in their near-certain victory, stamping their booted feet on the ground together with their spears, making the ground into a gigantic wardrum. Boromir felt their hate, their lust for the battle, sweep over him. He had been in battle before, so instead of provoking the fear that the children standing in his region of the wall, it lit his own determination: these foul creatures would not prey upon his friends and the good people of Rohan, he would not allow it!   
  
The first waves of arrows were now sent from their ennemies, who cowered for some moments when no direct answer was given from the enormous and treathening stone walls of the Helm's Deep. Beside Boromir, Legolas notched an arrow of his own and took aim.  
A scream was heard and the archers released their arrows. Scores of Orcs fell, but there was no stopping Saruman's army that easily. They kept coming, the holes in their ranks almost immediately filled again by others. Ladders swayed up, arching through the air. Soon battlecries filled the air and Boromir drew his own sword, leaping into the fray.   
  
"Gondor!" he shouted, then brought his blade down, cleaving an Orc as he did so. All around him chaos ensued. Men fell together with the ennemy and blood made the rock underneath his feet slippery and treacherous. Gimli's roaring battle shout went along the walls, spurring the men in his vicinity onwards. No doubt the Dwarf was having a great time in his 'game'. Legolas had switched to his blades and was staying near him. It could be his imagination, but it was almost as if the Elf was protecting him. Wich would have been annoying if he had not known the Elf so well by now: Legolas was very protective over his good friends. He had caught quite a few glances from the Elf towards Gimli, the prince wanting to reasure himself that the Dwarf was alright.  
  
And then Boromir suddenly ran out of ennemies, the assault on the Deep lessened for a few moments.   
  
"Two, master Elf!" the low voice of the Dwarf cut through the silence. "'T is a good beginning of our game, is it not?"  
  
"Yes indeed, but I have 20." Legolas answered, and Boromir dissolved into laughter at the look of shock on the Dwarf's face.   
  
"Still interested in playing, master Gimli?" he asked, wiping the tears from his eyes. The Dwarf gave him an indignant look, took a more firm grip on his axe and marched some paces away, mumbling about crazy Elves and even crazier Humans.   
  
Before long, the battle began again. The Orcs now had not only ladders to scale the wall, but also a ram to use against the great doors. The Human could feel the vibrations underneath his feet each time the door received a thud. He dispatched a man that sought to impale him, spinning swiftly under the man's stroke and using his own blade to pierce the armor, gutting his opponent in one cut. He came back up in time to stop another from running him through, dispatching the Orc with a vicious slice across the throat.   
  
Nobody on the walls received any warning for what happened next. One moment they were fighting off Orcs and Men, the next a part of the wall exploded. The people that had been standing there were thrown aside like dolls. Boromir himself was picked up by the violent burst and came to a hard landing several feet further, jarring his shoulder. He could hear the Rohirrim shouting to each other, and the voice of Éomer somewhere in the distance, giving commands, probably to retreat to the safety of the Hornburg itself. He shook his head to clear it of the ringing and looked around for his friends. Aragorn was fighting nearby, seemingly uninjured, and Gimli was swinging his axe wildly some meters further, chopping down his opponents as if he was felling a tree. That only left Legolas unaccounted for.  
  
Casting his gaze around, Boromir found the Elf at the bottom of the stairs that led down from the wall, fighting the Orcs that were coming through the shattered gate. Seeing that the Elf had been close to him when the explosion occured, the Human thought he must have fallen from the wall to the stairs below. Realizing their might be too many opponents if the Elf had hurt himself in his fall, he moved to the stairs to help his friend, but was stopped by a cry from Aragorn.  
  
"Boromir, we must get everybody into the Burg!" Boromir nodded, but still descended the stair, telling everybody he passed to head for the stronghold. He only stopped when he was next to Legolas, who had just dispatched his last ennemy and did not appear to be hurt, although his breathing came in rather short gasps.   
  
"Are you alright?" he asked as they both began to make their way back towards the Burg. The Elf nodded quickly. They were still a little way apart from the Burg as they saw a small amount of Rohirrim being cut of from the main host and being forced into the caves at the base of the mountain. Legolas seemed to tense as he watched them, retreating and loosing lives. "What's wrong?" Boromir asked, glancing along the Elf's gaze. Then he saw what had his friend so troubled: in the front rank of the beleagered group, Gimli wielded his axe next to Éomer.   
  
"Gimli." Legolas whispered, starting to change his direction to where his friend was. Boromir glanced over to where Aragorn was. The Man was drawing back among a score of others and was in no immediate danger, so Boromir decided to follow the Elf in his attempt to get to Gimli. But they did not get far, for some of the Orcs saw them move in their direction and attacked them, leaving them pinned at the foot of the mountain, since they were still far from the cave.  
  
'This is going wrong.' the Son of the Steward thought, parrying fervently. Legolas at his side was also dodging and his blades whirled freely. They were facing five foes each, a mixture of Orcs and savage Men, armed with large swords that already dripped with blood. Boromir stood back to back with Legolas, one of their sides covered by the mountainslope, as they defended themselves against their attackers. The Man could see Gimli and Éomer enter the caves. 'Wel at least they are safe.' he thought to himself, felling another of his assailants with a thrust through it's heart.  
  
Deciding that he would not give up so easily, Bormir called out to Legolas. "Still keeping count, master Elf?" Something between a snort and a chuckle was his answer.  
  
"Fourty!" the Elf called back, then sliced down another and added, "Make that fourty-one!" Boromir grinned and doged the next swordblow that came for him. Despite their light comments there was no denying that their situation was dire. The last groups of Rohirrim had now found refuge in either the Hornburg or the caves below, leaving the two friends out alone with all of Saruman's army's undivided attention. Wich was not exactly where they wanted to be, but nobody seemed inclined to ask for their idea on the matter.  
  
"We need to get into hiding!" Boromir called at the Elf, using his shield to stop another blow. He looked around, trying to find an escaperoute that would allow them to pass the hoards that swarmed in through the broken gates. He saw one and leaned slightly against Legolas to let him know they would start moving soon. He felt the Elf tense for the run, and decided to go after he had finished of his latest opponent, before the new squadron that was trying to help their comrads reached them. He stabbed the last one, and ran towards the Hornburg, shouting for his friend to follow him.  
  
Legolas got rid of his last assailant and ran after Boromir, both moving quick across the corpse-littered terrain, putting as much ground between them and the Orcs as they could. But their opponents had seen them by then, and charged after them at full speed. Just as everything seemed lost, a charge came from the Hornburg itself, as a deep horn sounded everywhere around them. Aragorn rode to them, just as they heard the shouts from the caves behind them as those captured there broke through the Orcs in their way.  
  
"Grab the reins!" Aragorn shouted at them as he led Arod and Boromir's horse close to them. The Elf swiftly swung himself in the saddle, and Boromir hoisted himself up as well.  
  
"What happened?" he asked the Ranger, indicating the shouting, frightened Orcs. Aragorn shook his head, smiling slightly as he pointed towards the open plains that now lay in front of them. Gandalf was there, talking to King Théoden, and he had a large army with him. There were also a lot of tree in the valley that had not been there before. He raised an eyebrow at Legolas, but his friend could do little else then raise his shoulders in response. Not even the immortal Elf had seen such a thing in his lifetime.  
  
"Hey Elf!" they suddenly heard. Legolas turned in his sadle to see Gimli trotting up to them, a bandage around his forehead. "I hope you didn't forget to keep count, master Legolas." he rumbled, smiling at his friend.  
  
"Indeed I did not. I have 44 kills. How stands your score?"  
  
Judging from the stern glare that the Elf received, Boromir decided that that hadn't been the answer the Dwarf was expecting.  
  
"I have 42," Gimli said, mock-disgusted at having to give the victory to his companion. Boromir decided to interrupt.  
  
"It seems that both your races will have to make way for Humans, since I have 45 kills ..." He had no time to finish his sentence since both Dwarf and Elf had already bowled him over and were now tickling him ferociously.  
  
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Miles from there, a young Captain of Gondor took his leave of two Hobbits and a treacherous guide. He felt more at peace now, knowing that he had passed his own test in letting them go. And he felt a tiny speck of hope, for the little ones had not known Boromir was dead. Wich meant that maybe he wasn't.  
  
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pfew, I'm really not a good battle writer :(  
Anyway, please review ! (please?) 


	7. Wise Words and less wise Wizards

Hello everybody!  
  
First of all, I'm very sorry for the delay, but I have a reason (don't we all :) ). I've just finished my exams and a very important paper, and right now I'm doing a six weeks long internship, wich means i'm not at home for 12 hours a day.  
  
Unfortunately, this doesn't leave much time for writing :(  
  
Skahducky: tx a lot! But there are a lot of people out there that write better than I do.  
  
Amanda: glad you like it :)  
  
ethiercn: hum, you're not alone in the not liking the tickling thing. But glad you liked it anyway. I love feedback :)  
  
charysa: tssssssssk, such thoughts are bad for my imagination :)) Thanks for reviewing!  
  
BoromirsBabe: Pippin Chocolates, yeeeeeeeeeey! Thanks a lot :)   
  
Tara: Obviously they're all very out of character at the end, with the tickling and all. Sorry for that. Also, this will not be a slash story, I promise. Oh, and Faramir decided to join us for this episode, although he doesn't say much. Lots of angst for the poor kid I'm afraid :))  
  
Lady of Legolas & Princess of Mirkwood: I'm working on the slash version of the story this week, but it will probably be posted at the library of Moria, because of the banning of NC-17 from ff.net. Pairing will, of course, be B/L :))  
  
AzNnEgGrOePnOi: when will the next chapter be up? Right about now :)) Tx for the review :)  
  
Super Lizard: thanks for all the tips :)  
  
Anne-Marie: oeps, another that noticed the tickling part was OOC. I'LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN! tx for the review  
  
  
  
And now: on with the show!   
  
  
  
Chapter 7: Wise Words and less wise Wizards  
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The battle was theirs, but Gandalf had remembered them that there was still much to do. One of those things to do, the Wizard had said, was to pay a visit to Saruman. Boromir thought this to be a bad idea. He knew that Gandalf was one of the Istari himself, probably more powerfull after his rebirth, but still ...  
  
Saruman was the leader of the Wizard order, a most appreciated ally before his treatchery, and now a most dreaded ennemy. But Gandalf had deemed this act necessary, so much so even that he would have left on his own. Aragorn had, of course, argued against that, but this only ended up in all four of them coming along to Isengard. King Théoden, Éomer and some other warriors would come as well.  
  
So they had rested a little, taking care of their wounds, until the afternoon. The journey to Saruman's fortress would take them more then a day, passing the river Isen where a lot of Rohan's wariors had fallen. A mound had been placed over them, surrounded by spears, protecting the Fords. Boromir sat on his horse for a while, looking at it.  
  
"The Wizard has much to pay for." Gimli's bass voice came from beside him. The sturdy Dwarf sat behind his Elf-friend again, sharing Arod. Boromir nodded and sighed. Saruman had much to pay for indeed. So many people had been killed during the nightly battle that it had made him, a warrior of many battles, sick. Most of them had been kids, barely old enough to lift their weapons. They had looked like Faramir when he had first held a weapon: they looked lost.  
  
He shook his head, trying to clear it from those sad thoughts. Drawing himself upright again, he felt his sprits lift a little in the knowledge that his little brother would be safe in Minas Tirith. At least that was something to be grateful for.  
  
The next noon they came to the road into Isengard. The place was, there was no other description possible, a mess. Boromir looked around wide-eyed and unbelieving. Stone walls had been torn down, leaving piles of rock everywhere, steam rose from within the little that was left of the surrounding stone ring of Isengard's defences. The once proud dwelling of the mightiest Sorceror in Middle-Earth had fallen just as low as the one who lived in it.  
  
And, to top it all off, and the edge of the destruction to the walls, two small figures sat and lay between the stones, peacefully smoking their pipes.  
  
He caught the amused glance that Legolas threw his way, smiling back softly. Then his smile grow broader as he saw the amazed expression on Gimli's face. The Dwarf looked as though he had been told that Dwarves weren't the hardiest creatures in the world. But before annyone could comment, one of the Hobbits sprang up.  
  
"Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard." he said. "We are the gatekeepers. Meriadoc, son of Saradoc, is my name; and my companion, who has been felled by tiredness I fear, is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the House Took. Far to the North we belong. Lord Saruman is inside, but, at the moment, has retreated with one Wormtongue, otherwhise he would surely be here to greet such worthy guests."  
  
"Undoubtfully!" Gandalf said, unable to contain his own laughter. "And was it Saruman who asked you to sit at his gates and wait for his guests, if you could find the time to let your plates and naps rest?"  
  
"Nay, my good Lord," Merry said, totally serious, "the case has escaped his attention. He has been too busy. We have received our orders from Treebeard, who has taken over the control over Isengard. He bade me to welcome the Lord of Rohan with fitting words. I have done my best."  
  
Gimli, it seemed to Boromir, exploded after that little smug speech. "And what about your friends, eh? What about Legolas and Boromir and me? You little cheating Hobbits, you woolheaded and woolfooted truant players! You gave us a nice hunt, you did: six hundred miles through swamps and forests, battle and death, all to save you! And here you are ... eating your fills and smoking. Smoking! Where did you get the weed, you rascals? Gods protect me, I am so thrown between anger and joy, it may be called a miracle that I haven't burst yet."  
  
Legolas laughed. "You take the words from my mouth, Gimli," he said, "although I would rather know where you found the wine."  
  
"Or how you escaped the Orcs." Boromir added.  
  
"There is one thing that you apparently didn't find in your chase and that is some more common sense." Pippin offered as he opened an eye. "You find us here at a field of victory, in the midst of the spoils of war, and you ask yourselves how we have come to a bit of well-earned luxury."  
  
"Well-earned?" Gimli asked, "I find that rather hard to believe!"   
  
Everybody around laughed at that statement, and Théoden commented "It has no doubt that we are witnessing the meeting of good friends."  
Gandalf smiled and introduced the King of Rohan to the first Hobbits he had ever seen. Boromir didn't follow the conversation any more, he was too busy being relieved to see his 'little ones' unharmed and safe.  
  
After a while, all but Boromir, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn left to meet with Treebeard. Instead they stayed behind to have a 'discussion' with their long lost friends, as Gimli chose to name it. In Boromir's opinion, the Dwarf was just looking for a way to take his anger out on them.  
  
Merry and Pippin led them into the wall surrounding Isengard, promising a meal as retribution for their woes along the hunt.   
  
"I'm not eating no Orc-food." Gimli said, still slightly of his mood by the scene of the two Hobbits smoking pipeweed, while he had had feared for their lives, believing them to be in great peril.   
  
"We wouldn't expect you to eat anything like that." Pippin said, "We have had enough of Orcs ourselves for the rest of our lives, thank you very much." With that they entered the small provision chamber and settled down to eat. Even after spending several months in the company of Hobbits, Boromir was still amazed at the amount of food they could gobble, for even though the two had just shared a very expansive meal outside while waiting for them, they didn't seem at all to be forcing themselves as they now joined their friends for a second midday meal.   
  
After dinner they went back outside, lighting their pipes as they sat down on the grass. "Well," Boromir said, "since you're all smoking, and I assume therefore that you have nothing better to do (a threatening glare from Gimli was directed at him for making fun of one of the Dwarfs favorite pass-times), I would like to hear what happened to you."  
  
"As would I." Legolas seconded, "The fog is clearing, or at least it would be if you weren't clouding the vale again with your smoke." Some derisive snorts mixed with Boromir's chuckles at that comment, but the Hobbits did start a recount of their experiances from the time they were captured on.   
  
It was already a good time later when they ended, both now looking at Boromir with wide eyes. "We thought you were dead." Pippin finally admitted. When the Human eyed them questioningly, he expanded. "I mean, we both saw you go down and ..." the young Hobbit trailed of, looking at Merry to confirm he was not alone in his worry.  
  
Boromir smiled at them reassuringly. "I'm perfectly fine, little ones. As a matter of fact, I think we had more cause to worry over you, than the other way around." But at the same time he knew that his own life had indeed been in danger. Not only in the forest, but also at Helm's Deep. And the end of this particular adventure was far from in sight. Wich meant that, like it or not, Boromir would still have plenty chances to encounter his death, or, what was maybe even worse, to loose one of the people that now surrounded him. He wouldn't be able to take that, he knew this as he looked from one to the other: the cheerful Hobbits, the quiet Man that would become his King, the Dwarf and the Elf, gently teasing eachother over something. They were worth the world to him, and he would fight to keep them all safe, just like he had for Faramir.  
  
Pippin's cheerful voice brought him back to the here and now. "If you want we can go see Isengard now. The waters have retreated, although the footing is rather unstable." And so they rose from their places on the ground, carefully moving over Isengards wet soil, noticing Gandalf, Théoden and their companions making their way over to Orthanc.  
  
From up close, the large Tower of Saruman seemed even more intimidating. Ever higher it rose, seeming to touch the clouds, the sky itself. Tons of smoothly carved black rock, not a seem in the stonework. It was like the building had risen up from under the ground, to come to a standstill where it was now, defying anyone to try and throw it down. Boromir was impressed, even overpowered by the look of it.   
  
It made him a little more uneasy about the upcomming parley: if the Tower was a reflection of Saruman's power ...  
  
"Looking at the state of his lovely mansion, I would nearly think Saruman is hiding." The soft voice beside him, gave him a measure of comfort. He studied Legolas as the Elf gazed at the Orthanc. "You don't need to worry so much about this, my friend." the prince said as he turned to Boromir, "Gandalf would never lead his friends into something he couldn't lead them out of."   
  
The small company reached the base of the stairs that led up to the door and paused.   
  
"I will go up." Gandalf said. "I have been in Isengard before and do not fear Saruman."  
  
"I will go with you." Théoden said, "Éomer will accompany me and see that my old legs do not give way underneath me."  
  
"Very well. Aragorn will come with me. The rest can stay here. You will be able to see everything weel enough."  
  
"No," Gimli said. "Legolas, Boromir and I will also come as representatives of our people. We would like to have a closer look."  
  
The Wizard looked at him with a small smile around his lips. "Fine, let us go then."  
  
They ascended the stairs and Gandalf nocked on the door with his staf, calling for Saruman. Foir a couple of moments nothing happened, then a voice spoke to then , asking who it was. Théoden and Éomer stiffened at the recognition of the hated spokesman.   
  
"Go tell Saruman I wish to speak with him, Grima Wormtongue." Gandalf said. The presence retreated, only to be replaced by another. Saruman had come onto his balcony, unnoticed until he beagn to speak.  
  
'He is good at this,' Boromir thought, looking up in surprise like the others to find the Istar standing above them, 'charming his way into peoples minds and controlling them.' It nearly made him wish he had stayed at the base of the stairs.   
He watched as Saruman tried to charm first Théoden and then Gandalf, feeling a new sort of respect for Gimli when the Dwarf spoke up blatantly and challenged the mighty Wizard. Neither King nor Istar were won over in the end, both seeing through Sarumans word games enough to know that they could not trust him any longer without putting themselves in danger. Boromir thought that the Wizard was defeated at his own game, and was rather amazed that he had not induced any thoughts of defeat in their hearts.  
  
But then the Istar spoke again.  
  
"Fools, you cannot win this war. Rohan is not the only country that shall be attacked. Perhaps the realm of Gondor will fall even quicker." At these words, Saruman turned his full gaze and the power of his voice onto Boromir. "Maybe your city will already be in ruins once you return to it, son of the Steward. Your people have fallen from greatness long ago, it is about time that the last of your 'noble' houses were destroyed and Minas Tirith burned until nothing was left of it but ashes."  
  
Boromir stood frozen, not knowing what to say or do for the moment while this great and powerfull Wizard spoke to him of his worst nightmare: the falling of the City and the people that he had fought nearly his entire life. Some part of him knew that Saruman was trying to get at him, like he tried to affect Théoden and Gandalf. All the rest of him was screaming on the inside, terified that the Istar was right and that soon his whole life would be gone.  
  
"Your father is already despairing." Saruman continued, voice laced with contentment. "He has knowledge of the true strentgth that he tries to oppose. He knows his City will fall and that everything its defenders do is in vain. It eats away at him, little by little. If you ever return home, it is quite imaginable that you won't even recognize him."  
  
The world was spinning around him now, the calm, confident words comming through the haze that covered everything that was not in a direct line between him and the Wizard. Boromir felt lost.  
  
Then Gimli spoke up again, daring the wrath of the Istar for a second time. "We'll help Boromir. And I don't believe that you know so much about what is happening in Minas Tirith."  
  
The Wizard just smiled at him, but anger flashed briefly in his eyes. "You'd be surpised at what I know, foolish Dwarf. My power is far beyond you. I beg you a good day, 'masters'. May all your dreams come to an unflattering end." And with that he turned away from them and went back to the doors from wich he had come.  
  
"Saruman." Gandalf's voice sounded, calm but commanding none the less, "We are not yet finished."  
  
The former White Wizard stiffened, and came back to the edge of the balcony, drawn against his will. "Saruman, you have fallen from your position of wisdom." He lifted his staf and pointed it towards the other. "Saruman, your staf is broken. You no longer have a Color and therfor you are removed from the Council."   
  
Sarumans white staf did indeed break, and the knob rolled until it lay at Gandalfs feet. Saruman looked at him with an undesribable rage, then turned from the rail to go back inside.   
  
Boromir started to relax again as he felt the tension leave him, knowing that the Istar was now fully defeated. A sudden clanck and movement startled him. A weird, round object had shattered the railing where only seconds ago Saruman had been. It continued its downward surge, breaking the step Gandalf stood on, then rolling further down. As it passed him, Boromir couldn't help the déja-vu feeling that hit him. He had seen this thing before, but for the life of him couldn't remember where. He mused on it as he saw Pippin run to catch the thing.  
  
"Let us go if this is the end of the conversation, before they find something more to throw at us." Gimli remarked at his side.  
  
As they went down again, Boromir noticed that he wasn't the only one that had eye for the round stone. Gandalf took it from Pippin and guarded it relentlessly as they moved to their horses, leaving for Helm's Deep once more, after saying their goodbyes to the Ents.  
  
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Minas Tirith:  
  
"My Lord, your son has returned." Denethor waived the servant away, not reacting in any other way outwardly, but trembling to control himself inside. 'Your son has returned'. Those words had in earlier times always meant that Boromir had returned from one of his battles or other missions. Now his eldest son was gone, and those words seemed to hit a dangerous nerve inside him.  
  
He didn't look up as Faramir came in, thanking the servant for announcing him. He didn't want it to be Faramir, he wanted it to be Boromir and the knowledge that this would never be burned him.  
  
"Father, I bear news from Ithilien. The company of Haradrim has been taken out, like you commanded." his youngest said with a small bow. Although he had little love for Faramir, he still felt a stab of sadness at the formality that existed between them. So very different from Boromir, in every aspect almost.  
  
He lifted his head to look at the other man, seeing that he wasn't as tense as when he had left. Could there be something that had lifted Faramirs spirit? Where had he found hope in these black days? Then a darker thought: how dare he hope while his brother has fallen and his City and father are close behind?  
  
"Good, then you will go and command the trops at Cair Andros. They need a leader there in the upcomming confrontation. To slow the inevitable."  
  
"The inevitable? Father? Surely there is still hope to win this war. We have brave men at our side and the people of Rohan ..."  
  
"Hope?!?" Denethor shot out of his chair, fury blinding him to anything but this fool before him that spoke of hope. "Hope has gone a long time ago and all we have done was in vain, though we did not see it at the time. It was hopeless to send you brother away to chase the answers to a dream. And it got him killed." He panted heavily, clutching the armrests of his chair and leaning on them to keep upright.  
  
"Killed?...Boromir?...But how? Why?" Faramirs eyes were wide and glinstening with unshed tears. All hope, Denethor noted was gone from his features. "This cannot be. You must be mistaking..."  
  
"No." Denethor said, and his voice was as dead and cold like an ice-storm. "I have seen it, seen the arrow that would pierce his heart. My oldest son is dead, and I and the entire City will soon follow him. As for you, go to Cair Andros or Osgiliath and defend it. Believe that there is still hope, if you cannot see the truth. As for me, I know that everything is lost. Go now, I do not wish to speak with you until you return, if you return at all."   
  
Denethor turned away from his son, towards the towerchamber where the Palantir was kept. Faramir remained behind, the little hope the Halfling had given him crushed into pieces too small to pick up again.   
  
If everything was already lost, if Boromir was truly dead, what better place to die than on a field of honour, defending his people. Like his brother would have done. With barely any time to rest or pack, Faramir rode back out towards the Anduin.  
  
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Tada! Hope it was worth the wait :)  
See you next chapter. And please review? It keeps my spirits high :) 


	8. Fool of a Took

Oh no, I can't believe how long this took, you all must have thought I died or something (sorry, no suck luck today:) )  
  
Anyway's thanks for the reviews, they are (as always) greatly appreciated, you guys make my day!  
  
sirithiliel: glad you liked it, and I found his death really sad to. He didn't really deserve it :(  
  
Alynna Lis Eachann: Eeeeeeh, somebody liked the tickling (jumps around feeling very giddy) thank you! And for the Faramir/Boromir unision you'll have to wait *euhm* two more chapters I think. (Ducks thrown objects) I'm sorry, I really am!  
  
Anne-Marie: Ok, this would definetly not fit your description of soonish i guess. *Sits down on knees* Forgive me? Please?  
  
charysa: Thanks a lot! Nice to know that people are willing to wait for a next chapter. Valar I wish I could write faster!  
  
skahducky: Nope, no mistake on your side, I did screw with the timeline :) But I have my reasons for it. We wouldn't want Faramir to ruin all the nice angst - scenes I have in wait for them. He would certainly do so if Pippin were there to tell him his brother was still alive. Babbling Hobbits, they always get in the way of my plot-bunnies :))  
  
So here it is. I have vacation now so chapter 9 will be here sooner :)   
Chapter 8 : Fool of a Took  
----------------------------  
  
As they left Isengard, the Ents came up to greet them, Treebeard in the lead. They discussed Saruman for a while until the old Ent turned towards the four new-arrived members of the Fellowship. He spoke briefly with Aragorn and Gimli and then turned towards Boromir and Legolas.  
  
"Now there is a strange friendship." Treebeard said, with a rolling sound that Boromir thaught to be laughter. He glanced quickly at Legolas, who gave him a reassuring smile. "A city-dweller and a Wood-Elf, hoom, that is very good. If you ever feel the desire to visit my Wood, good Elf, feel free to bring your friend here along."  
  
Legolas gave a light bow of appreciation, then looked sideways at Gimli.  
  
'Oh no,' Boromir thought, 'he's not going to ask for that, is he? I don't think ...'  
  
"I would dearly like to bring another friend with me also, if you would grant it, master Treebeard." Legolas said, his eyes sparkling with no small amount of mischief.  
  
"Of course, any Elf you would wish to bring would be most welcome."  
  
"This friend is no Elf, but a Dwarf." Legolas replied, gesturing towards Gimli.  
  
'I can't believe he did that.' Boromir thought, 'Gimli certainly will not be amused.' But he still felt himself smiling. "Elvish humour." he muttered below his breath, and saw Aragorn's mouth twitch slightly in an attempt to not laugh out loud as he caught the words.  
  
Meanwhile, Gimli threw his Elven friend a barely conceiled stare that promissed a wicked death to the receiver, and then bowed politely for Treebeard, which unfortunately caused his axe to fall to the ground.  
  
"Ho, hmmm, a Dwarf and Axe-carrier." the Ent said, shooting him a threatening look. "It seems you make many strange friendships."  
  
"Strange it may seem, " Legolas replied, "but as long as Gimli and Boromir live, I will not come alone. His axe is not for trees, but for Orc-necks, master Fangorn. Forty-two he slew at Helm's Deep."  
  
Treebeard's brow rose at that statement. "Hoom, now, that sounds a lot better indeed. But let us not be hasty. Either way, you must be leaving now. Gandalf says you must be on your way before the evening. So I bid you farewell, and you too, my little Hobbits. You will be remembered."  
  
As they packed their horses, Boromir kept a carefull watch out for the round object that Pippin had picked up. The Wizard had taken it from him, and now seemed to pack it with the rest of his small amount of lugage. If he only could remember where he had seen the damned thing before.  
  
"What are you looking for?" Legolas asked him, following his gaze across the clearing. Seeing nothing wrong with the Wizard packing his bags, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Boromir.  
  
"That round thing Wormtongue threw out of the Tower. I think I have seen it, or it's likes, before, yet I cannot remember where. Somehow, it makes me think of home." The Elf returned his gaze towards the now conceiled ball, then turned back to his companion.  
  
"Gandalf said that Saruman wouldn't have thrown it away, if he had been given a choice. If it is any good to that Wizard, it is good enough for me to keep away from it." Boromir nodded thoughtfully as he put the last of the straps in place. He helped Gimli up behind Legolas first, and then mounted his own horse.  
  
"I'm sure it's of no great importance." he said, more to convince himself then trying to keep the conversation going. "I'll remember sooner or later." Legolas shot him a smile and they urged their horses on to ride behind Aragorn and Éomer.  
  
They rode until the evening and then made camp under some trees. As they settled themselves and set out watches, Boromir noticed that he wasn't the only one who seemed to be ill at ease. Nudging Legolas who sat beside him, he jerked his chin in the direction of Pippin and Merry. The two Hobbits had lain down on their covers and were obviously trying to sleep. Or rather, Merry was trying to. Pippin kept tossing and turning, having some whispered conversation with his cousin.  
  
When Boromir saw that Pippin kept glancing over at the Wizard, he got the uncomfortable feeling that the young Hobbit's mind was also preocuppied with the round ball. The Elf, perhaps feeling his tenseness, spoke up suddenly.  
  
"I have heard tales off a thing that could perhaps be compared to this object that seems to hold so many people in thrall." he tilted his head slightly to look Boromir in the eyes. "They are called Palantir, the Seeing Stones, but they are believed to be lost, or at least some of them are. They show things, my father said, both far away and nearby. It seemed to me that he meant both in time and in space. If so, these things are as dangerous as the Ring, when they come into the wrong hands."  
  
The Human squinted in the last rays of the sun, thinking this through. He had heard similar stories in his youth, but had not given them any thought afterwards, thinking them to be but tales told by old people to keep the young ones entertained. "You think this could be one of those stones?" he asked Legolas, remembering the intrest Faramir had shown them. His brother had always been interested in all things old and, preferably, Elvish.  
  
The Prince nodded slowly. "Aye, I think there's a good chance that it could be. Mithrandir will know, he'll take good care of it, whatever it is." He turned his head completely toward Boromir. "Let's go to bed, it's getting late, and I don't think we'll get to sleep much this night. An air of watchfullness hangs around this place."  
  
With a quiet smile at the riddles that always seemed to sneak into the Elf's phrases, Boromir lay himself down on his bedding and fell asleep almost immediately.   
  
At the end, Legolas proved to be right, although Boromir was sure that the Elf regretted it. Sometime during the night, they were awoken by a scream. Boromir jolted straight, immediately going for his sword and looking for the ennemy, the movement born out of years of training. Confused when he didn't see anything from outside the camp, he turned towards Gandalf's voice, thinking the Wizard would know what was going on.  
  
They all gathered around the spot of ground where Gandalf was speaking with Pippin. The Hobbit was obviously terrified, and looked around wildly, blabbering about something that Boromir could not understand. Gandalf questioned him harshly, and the answers he received were spoken in a trembling voice. Whatever he had been through, Pippin was really shaken up.  
  
The fact that the young Hobbit had looked into the round ball, made Boromir uncomfortable. Legolas had voiced his doubt about the object if Saruman had had a use for it, and it seemed that that doubt was well-founded. But there was nothing that could be done about it now. The evil had occured and there was no turning it back.  
  
From what Pippin told them, Boromir got the impression that he had talked directly to the Dark Lord himself. He pitied the Hobbit for it, but also respected the resilience that he had shown.   
  
Gandalf seemed anxious, taking Aragorn apart to talk to him. Meanwhile Gimli and Legolas walked up to him.  
  
"This isn't good." the Dwarf stated the obvious, breaking the silence in wich they all waited for gandalf to announce what they were to do now.  
  
"I'm sure that Gandalf and Aragorn will come up with a reasonable plan." Boromir replied, trying his best to remain calm. Sauron knew that they were out here. Or perhaps not. Maybe he would think the palantir to still be in Isengard. If this was true, then they would have a small chance of escaping unnoticed. The only question was were they would escape to.  
  
He joined Legolas on the ground, where the Elf was checking Pippin over to see if he had any hurts or if he needed something.  
  
"What ails him, master Elf?" Gimli asked.  
  
Glancing over the Hobbit one last time, Legolas replied with relief. "He's quite shaken up, but there seem to be no physical hurts, and I'm sure that Gandalf will have cured him of anything that could have happened to his spirit. He left Pippin in the carefull hands of his cousin, as he looked up to see if Aragorn and Gandalf weren't finished yet.  
  
Both Man and Elf righted themselves when their leaders came back.  
  
"Let's hope this didn't ruin or only chance at saving youir city, Son of Gondor." Gimli groused as the two approached. Boromir shot him a dreading glance, and felt his heart skip a beat at that possibility. A hand grabbed his shoulder, squeezing in reassurance.  
  
"Peace, Boromir, Gandalf will not give up your city without a fight, and neither will Aragorn. You know that. Have faith, my friend, for my heart tells me that we will soon journey to the White City." The words were soft, but spoken with conviction, and the Man counted himself lucky to have the Elf as a friend.  
  
Laying his own hand over the slender one on his shoulder, he gave a small squeeze himself, and nodded his thanks, still looking forward to see if he could read anything from the guarded expressions of the Wizard and the Ranger.  
  
Gandalf joined them with Aragorn and some time later, Théoden and Éomer completed the circle, after they had given orders to their soldiers. Gandalf sighed and was silent for a moment. He looked at them all in turn, lingering somewhat on Pippin who was still sitting on the ground, with Merry's arms around him.  
  
"The ennmy is hot on our tails now. But we still have some time, as he will think the palantir to still reside in Isengard. Alas for Saruman, he would have done better to give us his help. Now he will have to explain all this to Sauron himself. But his misfortune is our road to escape." He paused and turned towards Aragorn. "I would ask you to guard the palantir, keep it safe and do not use it, if I may council you in this." Aragorn nodded and put it away into his bagage immediately.  
  
"I will go directly to Minas Tirith, and I will take Pippin with me." the Wizard continued, turning his attention towards Théoden, waiting for the King of the Rohirrim to unfold his own plans.  
  
The old Human nodded at him, then gestured towards Éomer. "I will take Éomer and 10 of my Guard and ride at dawn. The rest is free to follow Lord Aragorn when he wishes to leave."   
  
As he nodded his agreement, Boromir suddenly felt the nightair chill around him. He had felt this before, as he had defended Osgiliath, before he had left from his city to travel to Rivendell, and then again as they struggled agianst the current near the falls of the Rauros. Beside him the rest of the Fellowship also tensed, recognizing the feeling of dread that came over them.  
  
"Nazgul!" Boromir shouted as he heard the piercing scream rent the air. The Rohirrim looked on in horror as the huge beast cut of the stars a moment.  
  
"Nazgul!" Gandalf repeated Boromir's shout. "We have to be fast now, the storm is comming. The Messengers of Mordor have crossed the River. We must ride. Do not wait on those that are slower then you." Turning, the Wizard ran to where Pippin and Merry crouched. He scooped up the youngest Hobbit and carried him to Shadowfax. Aragorn wrapped him up in a blanket and set him in front of Gandalf, who had climbed up already and threw his bag on his shoulders.  
  
"Farewell!" the Istar called to them, "Follow me quickly. Go on, Shadowfax." And with that shouit, the great horse threw back it's head, mane and tail streaming in the moonlight before they launched forward and disappeared into the darkness.  
  
There was no time for the others to linger. Boromir saddled his horse again, tossing his pack on as well. "So muich for a quiet night." he muttered beneath his breath, glancing at Legolas to see if he needed help getting the Dwarf in place behind him.  
  
"Pfah, " Gimli sputtered, as his friend pulled him up the horse behind him. "more horseback riding." This produced a laugh from the other two, as the Dwarf made himself more comfortable on this much hated perch.  
  
Merry and Aragorn joined them as soon as they had picked up all their luggage, Merry also carrying Pippin's with him. Aragorn looked gravely at them and sighed.  
  
"So five members of the Fellowship remain. We will ride further together, but at least we will not ride alone."  
  
"Is Théoden going to Helm's Deep with us?" Boromir asked, mounting.  
  
Aragorn nodded. "Because of the Nazgul he prefers to return to the Deep under the cover of darkness."  
  
"And where to then?" Legolas asked.  
  
"It seems to me that all roads now lead to Minas Tirith in the end." Aragorn said. "The King will have his Assembly first at Edoras, and then go there. As for myself, I'm not sure yet by wich road, but the White City is also my end goal." he looked intently at Boromir while speaking those last words.   
  
"I will go with you," Boromir said, immediately backed up by Legolas and Gimli. Aragorn nodded thoughtfully.  
  
Soon, they were all ready to leave. Legolas again rode next to Boromir, while Aragorn was up front with Éomer and Théoden. They hadn't ridden long before the Elf seemed to get skittish. He kept looking backwards, over Gimli, to see the road behind them. His nervousness rubbed of on Boromir, who began to also throw glances backwards, although he couldn't see anything but the rearguard.  
  
"My Lord." a rider from the rearguard suddenly sent his horse to the fore, adressing Théoden, "there are riders behind us."  
  
The whole company stopped and turned their horses. The warriors quickly got off their horses and stood on the ground, nervously waiting, while from time to time toutching the hilts of their swords, making sure they could be unsheated at the least sign of trouble or unfriendliness.  
  
Merry stood over with Théoden, and Boromir could see that the little one was feeling very smaal and out of place, so he went to stand beside him, giving him a comforting smile. Merry, looking a little better as he saw his big friend, relaxed a little and gave him a smile of his own. But he tensed agaian as a couple of riders suddenly burst out of the dark.  
  
Their was a brief but animated conversation as they determined who their pursuers were. Boromir knew who they were before they spoke, if he could go from their clothing. They were dressed in similar capes and gear as Aragorn himself had worn when they set out from Rivendell, and that would make them Northern Rangers.  
  
His suspissions were confirmed as the leader identified himself as Halbarad, and announced that he was looking for Aragorn. Strider indeed seemed to be very relieved and welcomed his kinsman with a brief embrace and warm words. A sigh at his side told him he wasn't the only one relieved to see they had escaped discovery by the Dark Lord. At least for now.  
  
With the Dúnedain adding to their strength, the journey towards Helm's Deep was continued. Halbarad hadn't come alone it seemed: Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, accompanied him. They had messages to their foster-brother from their father and the group spoke quietly amongst themselves.  
  
"I wonder what they're saying." Gimli rumbled as they rode on. Boromir had similar thoughts. He was somewhat reluctant to admit that he now trusted Aragorn fully, he only hoped that with the arrival of his old friends, the Ranger would not forget the duty he had towards the people of Minas Tirith. The comming of the Dúnedain had also rieminded him of another captain of Rangers: his brother Faramir. He missed him, and only hoped that the younger man was as fine as he could be in times like these. He didn't know why but the last month his brother had been on his mind even more often then at other times.  
  
It was nearing dawn when they finally arrived at the Deep, where they would rest and decide about their roads from the Hornburry onwards. Merry fell asleep at once, and the three others talked for some time before they nodded of as well. Aragorn had retreated into the Burg with the Dúnedain nearly upon their arrival.  
  
It was noon when Boromir awoke, finding himself beside a still snoring Dwarf and Hobbit. Legolas was not to be seen and so he stretched himself before standing up and looking around for a bit. He could smell the food that was prepared and decided it was time to wake up Merry and Gimli. A hand on his shoulder stoppid him.  
  
Whirling around, hand on hilt and sword already half out of the sheath, he was met with nothing more dangerous than a grinning Elf. "Sorry." the prince said charmingly, buth with a gleam of misschief in his blue eyes. Boromir simply grunted and swatted at him playfully. Their banter woke up Gimli, who gave them a whithering look and moved to wake up Merry.  
  
Deciding to forego showing their battlefield to the hobbit, they went to the meal with Théoden. As they walked towards the hall where they would eat, Merry asked after Aragorn, wich led to a discussion about the Dúnedain and the message for Aragorn that the Lady of the Wood had given.  
  
During the dinner, Merry sat close to Théoden and told him stories about his homeland of the Shire. It still suprised Boromir somewhat that the little ones could make themselves at home where-ever they ended up. He smiled as the young one pledged his allegiance to the old King of Rohan.  
  
At the end of Dinner, Éomer suddenly took the word, saying the time for leavetaking came close. "Shall I ask the man to blown the horns, my Lord. But where is Lord Aragorn? He hasn't eaten and his seat stand empty."  
  
Théoden stood at that. "We shall preapere ourselves and depart. Let someone go and tell Aragorn that the time draws nigh." And with that he left the Burrow, his guards and Merry at his side.  
  
Boromir went with Legolas and Gimli to seek out their friend. They found him in a room high in the keep. A gasp left the Dwarf's lips as they looked upon him. Boromir couldn't blame him, looking at the figure of their leader: Aragorn seemed to have aged a lot these last hours. His features were grim and his skin was nearly gray with exhaustion. "What happened?" Boromir could not help but ask as Legolas clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder.  
  
"I'll explain later," he answered, "for now we must first see the King so that I can decide on the road I need to take. Are you still with me?" They all nodded, still too confused by the sudden change to ask any questions.  
  
They left the keep and strode up to where the King and his Men stood. Merry flinched at the change in the Ranger. After listening to the King's plans, Aragorn informed him he would not go along with him any further. He and those who would ride with him would take the Paths of the Dead, aming for speed rather then for safety. Boromir was sadddened when he heard that Merry would go with Théoden.  
  
"Goodbye for now, little one." he said with a smirk, "At least we leave you in safer hands this time." Merry didn't know quite what to see, and was visibly struggling against his tears, but he held himself bravely and the son of Gondor's Steward felt a stirring of something that could be called paternal pride at the courage of his little friend. A while later they rode away, leaving the four behind to look after them until they were no longer visible.  
  
Not too long after, the rest of the Fellowship departed from the Deep towards the treatcherous route that their leader had chosen towards Minas Tirith. Riding amongst Men, a Dwarf and an Elf, Boromir felt lighter at heart, knowing that this would be the final treck before he would look upon the walls of his home once more.  
  
If they could just brave the Paths of Death to get them there.  
  
************************************  
  
I hope you liked this one, it sure took me enough time to finish it (very sorry, blame it on the many duties of a last-year student).  
Next time: On the Paths of the Death and Boromir finally glimpses his City again. But he also begins to have the nagging feeling that something's wrong with his brother. Angst :))  
Please review? They're my life :)) (Sad but true, I know) 


	9. Not home yet

Finally a new chapter. It certainly took more time then I would have thought, but it's also the biggest one yet :)  
  
Helena: I think so too. I mean, we would never want anything bad to happen to our favorite would-be Steward now would we? Except for major angst of course :) Thans for the review!  
  
Alynna Lis Eachann: More Faramir! As far as Legolas and Boromir friendship goes, they're my favorite Elf and Human, so they like each other a lot.  
  
Lady of Legolas: *ducks* Sorry, I made you wait again. But this is an extra long chapter ...  
  
skahducky: Hum, Frodo and Sam are going through their own private Hell at the moment, so I don't think they'll turn up soon, but Boromir still owes them a nice appology, so their parts will be prolongued somewhere near the end :))  
  
As for now, I hope you'l all enjoy this new chapter!  
  
Chapter 9: Approaching darkness  
  
--------------------------------------  
  
They seemed to have rode forever, Glír below him trotting on obediantly as dawn broke softly around them. The name of the horse always made him laugh, even in this less than optimal condition. Legolas had picked it, since the Rohirrim had neglected to tell them the horse's real name. It meant 'song' and it was strangly fitting to the animal since it always perked up it's ears if it heard somebody singing.  
  
Dunharrow already lay behind them, and still they headed for the mountains, never stopping beyond a short rest. Boromir's thought were turned inward, as were those of most of their company. The Dúnedain were by nature not people who talked a lot and the depression they felt hanging over their destination did nothing to inspire conversation. So there really was no other thing to do than think.  
  
And because of their circumstances, those thoughts tended to be depressing.  
  
Boromir found himself reflecting on the despair that had shown in even one as fair and courageous as the Lady Éowyn. He hadn't mentioned her crying to anyone, but he thought that Gimli and Legolas had been close enough to catch it. It had been a sad necessety that they had to leave her there like that, but he understood Aragorn's reasoning behind it. Yet he wondered if the despair wouldn't be replaced by something even worse.  
  
They finally came to an area where they had to ride between large stones that stood on either side of their path. The air seemed to thicken and everybody became nervous, squirming in their saddles. The cracks of the saddles and the soft murmurings of the horses did nothing to relieve the weight of the air around them. Indeed, Boromir found the familiar noises to be adding to the eeriness of this place, rather than to lighten the atmosphere.  
  
The mountian loomed up before them and the trees, darker and and more black than he expected even those around Dol Guldor would be, seemed to close them of from everything but the doom that surrounded this place.  
  
Hoping to draw comfort from the Elf at his side, Boromir turned in his saddle to face his companion, but found no words as he saw the same concern in the prince's eyes as he knew to be in his own.  
  
Legolas, feeling somebody watching him, let his eyes meet those of the Tirithean, and spared him a small smile. Both knew it to be the futile gesture of comfort that it was.  
  
They approached the mountain-wall and swa the entrance they had come for: a small hollow that opened at the base of the mountain. In the middle of the path stood a huge boulder, pointing upwards the sky, a finger on the hand of Doom.  
  
They halted the horses and for a while just sat their, staring at the rock. Glír and the other horses shook their heads nervously. Boromir was jerked out of his thoughts when he felt the leather of the reins pulling against his fingers.  
  
It was not a place he would have liked to visit in his lifetime. The son of the Steward of Gondor was no coward and had seen many dangers, from something as common as an Orc or Southern Men in the service of Sauron, to the great, flame-clad evil of the Balrog of Moria, a creature of terror from ages long since passed. He had known fear, but he had always been able to look it in the eyes and conquer it.  
  
Maybe it was because his fear had been directed against something tangible at those times. Maybe because it had been something he could see, toutch, smeel and slay. Something that could bleed just as he could. Or maybe it was because of a reason he could not even begin to fathom, but this time...  
  
This time the fear did not go away. It was not replaced with battle-lust or anger. No, this time it clung to him like a tight fitting set of robes.  
  
The simple knowledge that they were about to enter a domain that was forbidden to those that still lived, that they would cross a treshold that would lead to death and ruin and other nameless things of dread, scared him. It scared him more than anything he had ever come acress and he knew in that moment that if he had been here alone he would have turned and fled until Glír would drop down out of fatigue.  
  
Instead he thanked the Valar that he was not alone down here. The presence of the others, even if they were silent and probably every bit as shaken as he was, kept him on the path he had chosen.  
  
When Gimli's voice finally cut through the silence, Boromir had recovered at least a part of his composure.  
  
"My blood runs chill." the Dwarf's booming bass rolled through the trees, but more silence was his only answer. None was really needed: everybody could feel what he was talking about.  
  
In silent agreement they pushed their horses forward, but as Aragorn reached the guardian stone that stood in their path, Roheryn refused to pass. The horse nickered softly and held it's head high, nostrils wide as it sniffed the air. Aragorn took pity on the frightened animaland dismounted, keeping himself between horse and stone as he gently led Roheryn past the stone.  
  
The others followed suit, dismounting and stepping between the rock and their mounts. Boromir could see the shiver that ran through Glír as he moved past and patted the horse on the nose in comfort.  
  
They came finally to deep into the glen, befor ethe very base of the mountain itself, and before them loomed threateningly the Black Door thay had willingly sought. Signs and figures, unreadable in the dark gloom, spiralled around it and fear flowed from it in tabgible waves. The first part of the journey was over, the worst part about to begin.  
  
Boromir felt himself quail and he shivered harshly as Legolas and Gimli came to stand beside him. The Dwarf had gripped his axe to stil his own trembling hands, while the Elf seemed much calmer than he had at the stone. The prince held the reins, stroking Arod gently, saying a few words to it in his own language. His eyes were riven on the signs that surrounded the door.  
  
Boromir drew strenght from the fact that the Elf didn't seem as much afraid as he appeared to be curious. Grinning inwardly, he thought 'Why would he be afraid of the spirits of Men. Our Elf is probably more interested with those symbols then he is with the Door.' Unfortunately that did nothing to dampen the waves of dread coming straight at them.  
  
"This is an evil door and my death lies beyond it." Halbarad said from in front of him, looking intently at Aragorn, as if asking him to reconsider, "and my death lies beyond it. I will dare to pass it nonetheless; but no horse will enter."  
  
A grimace slid across the Ranger's face before he answered. "But we must go in, and therefore the horses must go too. For if ever we come through this darkness, many leagues lie beyond, and every hour that is lost there will bring the triumph of Sauron nearer. Follow me!" And with those words he led them once more towards the Door.  
  
As he followed Aragorn, Boromir knew that he was following a true King. It was Aragorn's will that spurred everybody, save perhaps Legolas, on: the will of a King to lead his people through darkness back into the light. And indeed those that followed him in that hour found that they had the courage to pass through the Black Door and face the Dead.  
  
The Dúnedain and their horses had all passed inside, and although the horses were skittish they allowed themselves to be led. Soon only Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and their horses stood outside. The Elf raised his shoulders and tugged on Arod's lead, approaching the darkness.   
  
Just as Legolas had faded into the blackness, Arod rolled his eyes and began to back of, shaking and sweating heavily. The Elf felt the reins go stiff and turned around inside the Door. He went back outside swiftly, covering the horses eyes and muttering to him in Elvish. Boromir and Gimli looked on in amazement as their companion began to sing to his frightened horse and how, eventually, Arod suffered himself to be led inside as well.  
  
Boromir felt a tug on the leads in his hand as Glír, liking the fact that someone was singing, made to follow the Elf and the Human quickly complied to his horses wishes, fearing that he would not get the animal in by himself.  
  
As he stepped into the darkness behind the door, Boromir was instantly blinded. He stopped after he and the horse were both inside, giving his eyes time to adjust to the blackness that seemed darker than a night without either moon or stars.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
~Osgiliath~  
  
Faramir surveyed the ruins that surrounded him and his men. The city had been under almost constant attack since the attempt to take it from the Tiritheans almost a year ago. They had managed to keep this side, but at a great cost of lives.  
  
Boromir had been in charge of that company and Faramir found that his thoughts wandered along the now famaliar path to where the memories of his brother were stored. He cherised those, convinced that they were all that was left of him.  
  
Valiantly he blinked back the excess moisture in his eyes: now was not the time. He was expected to be the warrior in the family now, although he knew that it was not his part in life. He would only be a disappointment to his father in the end, like he always had been.  
  
A whining sound as the catapults of the Ennemy fired again, brought him back to the current situation. The buildings around him were already beaten and cracked from several hits with big rocks. At this rate, Faramir feared that the orcs and humans on the other side would venture an all-out attack within three days from now.  
  
He also knew that he didn't nearly have enough resources to stop them, or even slow them down for a short amount of time. The only warning Minas Tirith would have, would be the burning of what was left of Osgiliath.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
~On the Paths of the Dead~  
  
Once inside, the darkness was complete, more complete even than any simple absence of light would warrant. Boromir could hear the others in front of him and moved carefuly in that direction, his left hand ghosting over the clammy cavern-wall as his right held the reigns tightly.  
  
He heard a sound like a tinder being struck and red-orange light bloomed into being in front of him as he saw Elladan accept a torch and Aragorn striking fire to another one, wich he took with him to the front of the company.  
  
Elladan stayed behind, probably to form the rear, and by the light of his torch, Boromir could see that Legolas stood slightly to the side, stroking Arod's nose in comfort, looking somewhere behind his Human friend. But before he could ask what was wrong, Elladan gave a slight tug at his own reigns and they were both forced to move or stay behind in the dark. The last, in Boromir's opinion, was not even to be considered an option.  
  
He lead his horse forwards until he could fall into step beside his friend. As he turned his head to question the Elf, a shorter figure stumbled between the horses and they turned their eras nervously. Instantly at guard in this hostile place, Boromir moved his hand towards his sword, although he would never have enough place to wield it effectively in this narrow cavern.   
  
Turning towrds the new treath, he breathed out in relief as their Dwarven companion emerged from the shadows.  
  
"Gimli." he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The Dwarf simply harrumphed, but said nothing else. The glances he cast around betrayed his ill feelings for the place without need for speech.  
  
They continued their underground journey for a long time, as far as time could be estimated with no sun to look to for confirmation, sometimes stopping for no apparent reason, then moving on until they were forced to halt again.  
  
It was during the first of those stops that Boromir's ears picked up the sound of whispering behind him. There appeared to be no clear words in it, at least not that he could distinguish, but it made him feel haunted. When they moved again the voices dimmed, nearly unhearable, unless on short moments when there was no sound of hooves to drown them out.  
  
Nothing halted them or hindered them in any way and the short rest were more for determining the right path then aught else, but still an unnamed fear seeped steadily into the Gondorian, stoked by the voices that whispered in the air around him, seeming to object to the simple fact that he was still alive and, therefor, had no business here. There seemed to be so many of them that Boromir thought it well possible that the Dead had gathered into an army and were now following them tirelessly.  
  
At another stop, the light of Aragorn's torch reflected of of something and the Ranger went to investigate. The cavern was wide at this point, and no walls were revealed in the circle of life they brought with them. Boromir could hear Gimli muttering at his side, but all he caught were the words 'fear' and 'gold'. Although the feeling of dread was heavy, his curiousity momentarily won out, and he also stepped closer to look at what had grabbed Aragorn's attention.   
  
In the dust, a skeleton lay, girded with a shining armour. The gold on it, and the dry air in the cavern had kept it well-preserved. One arm lay outstretched towards a door, but he seemed to have failed to enter it, for his fingers were still grasping at the cracks in an urgent manner. A shock of recognition went through him, as he remembered the tale of one of the heirs to the throne of Rohan, who had disappeared, never to be seen again. Aragorn's words soon confirmed his suspicion.  
  
"Hither shall the flowers of simbelmynë come never unto the world's end. Nine mounds and seven there are now green with grass, and through all the long years he has lain at the door that he could not unlock. Wither does it lead? Why would he pass? None shall ever know!" Then Aragorn's stance altered, and he seemed to focus on the present and their mission again as he continued. "For that is not my errand. Keep your hoards and your secrets hidden in the Accursed Years! Speed only we ask. Let us pass, and then come! I summon you to the Stone of Erech!"  
  
If Aragorn had excpected an answer, he was to be disappointed, for there was only a silence more eerie than the whispering voices that had haunted them earlier. The next thing Boromir knew, a chill wind blew all around them and doused their torches. Blindness struck them and the beginnings of panic started in his mind, when he heard a firm command to relight the torches. 'Thank the Valar for Aragorn', he thought to himself, realizing once again the strength of the other's mind and presence.  
  
But the torches could not be ignited again, though the wood was dry and the flint still good. Anxious they moved along, struggling through the layers of darkness that surrounded them. It was long before they could see a dim light grow larger in front of them, always spurred further by a nameless fear behind them, but at last they came to the end of the cavern, and passed through another gateway to walk under the sky again.  
  
It was night, and the stars sparkled brightly. At his side, Legolas gave a soft sigh of appreciation, and Boromir felt a grin tug at the sides of his mouth. The Elf may not have felt the dread they had encountered, he had been uncomfortable for his own reasons as well.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
~Pellenor Fields~  
  
Osgiliath had fallen. Despite Faramirs best efforts, he and his Men had not been able to hold back the flood of dark men and Orcs that had streamed to their side of the fallen city. He had sounded the retreat, and they had fallen back, regrouping where possible. The number of people that didn't show up was disconcerting, but there was no real time to stand still over it.  
  
The retreat was still fairly organized, but Faramir had no illusions that that would last. 'As we near the city, they will overtake us. Sauron's forces as fresh, where we have battled constantly and are weary. They will cut through us like a knife through butter.' So he ordered his people to stay together, knowing, as he caught view of the great walls of Mians Tirith that it was only a matter of time before they would scatter.  
  
A moment later he heard hoofbeats behind him and sreams from above as the Nazgûl stooped for the kill. The men around him broke away from formation and the horse that were left reared in panic. Men screamed an cast down their weapons running for their lives. Every effort to pull them back together now would be in vain. The horses had now overtaken them, and he was soon forced to defend himself against their sword.  
  
And then when all semmed lost, a trumpet sounded from the walls and the Gate of the city opened, letting through a fierce battalion of knights on horseback. "Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!" they cried and Faramir felt like he could cry out of sheer joy. He parriad a blow from the Southron rider that sought to strike him, and turned around to look for their saviors.  
  
Only to fall to his knees as white-hot agony coursed through his side. He moved his hand towards the spot and felt the smootheness of his blood as it ran down from the arrow-wound. The world started spinning in front of his eyes and the sounds around him became slurred and unrecognizable. Then suddenly in a flash, he saw his brother, standing on the prow of what looked like one of the ships from Pelargir. Thinking of the stories the Elves told, about the Undying Lands far across the Great Sea, he smiled, then fell away into darkness and knew no more.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
~Paths of the Dead~  
  
The journey onwards started with very diconcerting news. Legolas, turning to face backwards so he could speek to Gimli, suddenly sat a little straighter. His eyes flicked around, looking behind Gimli and Elladan, who was the last of the Company. "The Dead are following." he said softly, and Boromir felt a shudder pass through him at the words, "I see shapes of Men and of horses, and pale banners like shreds of cloud, and spears like winter-thickets on a misty night. The Dead are following."   
  
Elladan merely nodded and siad "Yes, the Dead ride behind. They have been summoned."  
  
The rest of their journey appeared to be a bad dream, when Boromir thought back to it years later. They were never sure what time it was, since all had become dark around them, and they never rested for long. The miles glided by under Glir's hooves and he felt like he was riding towards the end of Middle-Earth itself. If he hadn't had companions with him, he was sure he would have faltered.  
  
They crossed the wide lands, making for the harbour of Pelargir. Aragorn sought to capture the fleet back from the Corsairs and use it to come to the aid of Minas-Tirith. It was the best plan possible under the circumstances, since it would also free a large band of the Gondorians that resided there to march to the White City to help in it's defense.  
  
Though time had no meaning for them now, Boromir would later learn that it been the sixth day since the entering of the Paths when they finally arrived at Pelargir, driving the ennemies they had encountered on the journey before them. The might of the Dead that rode with them could not be denied and after a short but heavy battle, the harbours were theirs.  
  
Aragorn chose the largest ship for himself and his friends and they left, going slowly up the Anduin. Boromir cursed their ill-luck when the wind refused to fill their sails and let them make any sort of spead. Time was of the essence now. He stood with Gimli and Legolas at the stern, feeling tense as a drawn bow.   
  
Then suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He grasped at it, letting out a shout, more of surprise then of anguish, and fell to his knees on the deck. Legolas and Gimli rushed over to him and he felt the Elf's gentle hands on his shoulders forcing him to stay down when he sought to rise.  
  
"Peace, Boromir." the Prince said as he went down on his own knees before him, moving one hand to tilt up the Human's face so their eyes met.   
  
"What is it?" Gimli said grufly, trying to mask his concern, "Were you injured during the fight, Master Human?"  
  
Boromir shook his head in denial. "I do not know what ails me." he admitted, "I just felt a stabbing pain in my side, but it's gone now." The words hadn't even left his mouth when the pain was replaced by a terrible anxiety. He was afraid, Boromir realised, afraid that the pain he had felt was in truth a reflection of someone else's pain. Somebody he knew and loved well. 'Faramir!' his thoughts screemed.  
  
He could not let his friends know this, could not allow them to get upset because of his pain. It would not do to let them go to war with this extra concern on their minds. No, this was something he had to bear alone.  
  
"It's over now." he said, looking into Legolas' eyes and willing the Elf to believe his words. 'Please don't ask anymore questions.' He could not tell if his friend believed the lie or had heard the unspoken plea, but Legolas nodded softly and helped him back to his feet.  
  
They turned back to their contemplation of the shores that went by agonizingly slowly.  
  
In his mind though, Boromir cursed their slowness now more then ever, and questions tumbled through his head. 'Where are you Faramir?'  
  
Hours later, the boats were being slowed down and turned. The wood underbeath Boromir's feet cracked because of the change of pressure on them.   
  
The tension in the men around him mounted. Soon they would all join the battle that raged on the shores and plains that stretched towards Minas Tirith. Through years of training, the Man recognized several banners that were presented on the field, even though they were still blurred from the distance that separated them from the shore. Rohan, Dol Amroth and a few who he thought to be Southern regions, from Harad or beyond. The fight would be hard and long, and much blood would flow before the evening fell.  
  
Boromir shifted his weight anxiously, the reigns of his horse Glir in his right hand, cluthing the railing with the other one. He could feel Legolas' eyes on him. The Elf had felt the change in him that had occured before. He knew that he was concerned about something, other than the upcoming battle, and seemed to be dying to get back to his city. But he didn't pry, wich was just fine with Boromir because even he didn't know quite what it was that was pulling at him so. All he knew was that it had something to do with his brother.  
  
Sudenly, when the ship was only about ten feet away, Boromir raised his head abruptly and found his gaze drawn towards the King's palace on the upper level of Minas Tirith. Two thoughts passed through his mind, alarmingly clear and urgent. *Faramir* one said, while the other yelled *danger*. It was enough for him at the moment. Boromir grabbed the knob of his saddle and jumped up into it. He let Glir take a couple of paces back, then gave a shout and charged towards the railing, flying over it and barely reaching tha shore. But he made it, adrenalin rushing in his veins as all of his focus was fixed on getting to his little brother as fast as he could.  
  
Behind him, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn could do nothing but stare. Then Aragorn took control of the situation.  
  
"Legolas!" The Elf turned to face the Human at this call. "Stay with him, he'll need all the help he can get!"  
  
Shaking of the surprise that had stopped him from momentarily doing anything, the Elf pulled himself swiftly on top of Arod's back and followed the same course as his friend had taken, racing over to the shore, followed by Gimli's cry to be carefull. He cursed himself inwardly. Maybe if he had asked what was wrong, Boromir wouldn't have reacted that way. Now they were both rushing into a great roiling chaos of friend and ennemy, caught in an insane race towards whatever it was that was calling Bormir home.  
  
He just hoped they would make it there in one piece.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Well that's it for this chapter (*evil grin*). Exams are over next Tuesdayevening, so I should be able to begin the new chapter then. Meanwhile, please review? They're what keeps me going :) 


	10. Homecoming

Aaaaaaaaah, shame on me, leaving this hanging for so long. Tssssssk, maybe I should just shoot myself (after this is finished of course). Anyway thanks for the reviews, they were greatly appreciated. (By the way, I own nothing but the plot :(( )  
  
Blue Iris: Great, I like it when people stay interested enough to wonder what comes next! (Favorites list? Yaiks, that sounds rather important :$)  
  
Lady of Legolas: thank you. I promise, though, that I'm not the one who ruins FF.net though, I'm always carefull not to break anything :)  
  
skahducky: ouch, sorry. I don't think this is what you would term as 'soon'. Don't shoot me, please *puppy eyes*  
  
Alynna Lis Eachann: here you go: more Faramir and Legolas interaction!  
  
charysa: Well, Bor's here now, but if he's in time, wait and read (mwhahahaha)! Thanks for the appreciation!  
  
And now we give the word bake to Boromir. Take it away, Son of Gondor!  
  
Chapter 10: Homecoming  
  
------------------------  
  
The moment Boromir left the ship in that enormous jump, he was envelloped in the greatest battle he had ever witnessed. Orcs and Humans were everywhere: fighting, screaming and dying. Glír was nervous beneath him, nostrils flaring wide as the animal caught the scent of blood that hung heavy in the air. If the horse hadn't been trained by the Rohirrim, Boromir would have undoubtfully been thrown of by now.   
  
But they both pushed forward. His shield was on the arm that steered Glír, the other was used for his sword. Orcs and Uruk-Hai ran towards him, screaming as they were felled. He didn't stop or even slow down unless his life depended on it, trusting the horse to find the shortest way to the City.   
  
****************  
  
A little further back, Legolas was having his own trouble in keeping up with his friend. The Human rode as fast as any Elf in his haste to reach Minas Tirith, barely slowing down to take his ennemies out. Legolas' own knives whirled as he rode past another cluster of Orcs, steering Arod with his voice only. He had soon become aware that catching up with Boromir would be nigh impossible until they came closer to the City, where the crowd was pressed tighter together. Cutting free of the Orcs, he bade Arod to follow Boromir's course: if he couldn't catch him, it would be well to stay at least as close as possible. Valar only knew what had gotten into that Human's stubborn head.  
  
****************  
  
As Boromir drew closer to the gate, he saw the King of the Nazgul come out of the City again. His first instinct was to wheel his horse around and flee the same way he had come, but he resisted the urge. The monster was going away and he really needed to be in the City. He recognized the banners of Rohan and Dol Amroth around him, returning to the defense now that the Black Rider had gone. Many called out to him, but he didn't heed them and pressed on into the arch of the Gate.   
  
Both halves of the great gate had been pushed aside, with what looked to have been a battle ram. The construction that in his child-years had seemed so indestructible was now torn and useless to hold back the ennemies that tried to swarm the City. But once again, Boromir paid it no heed, overcome with his concern for his brother. Spurring Glír back into action, he let the horse canter towards the great Citadel in the seventh circle.   
  
He didn't make it all the way up. As he passed the street that led to Rath Dinen, a tug on his soul made him draw hard on the reins. Glír screamed in protest, going far down on his hindlegs to come to a full stop. Boromir leaned to one side in the saddle, trying to make the turn easier for the valiant beast. They went through the curve and the following street.   
  
Strange how things can change so suddenly. Boromir no longer thought about the war raging just a few meters away. The Streets here were quiet, as if the atmosphere of the dead could not be lifted even by a thing so chaotic as battle. Everything here excuded calmth and it made him angry. How dare it be so calm, as if it didn't care about the fate of his brother, as if Faramir wasn't important at all. Silent tears streaked down from his eyes, for there was no question now in his mind of the fate of his little brother. Faramir was dead, lying somewhere in those silent tombes, his father probably sitting at his side. 'Oh Faramir, I'm so sorry.'  
  
When the place were normally the Guard for these tombes stood came into view, Boromir's mind registered some measure of surprise to see nobody was there. Surely, if his brother had been burried, someone would stand watch over it, wouldn't they. He pulled Glír to a stop and swung down from his high perch as he noticed a body lying on the pavement. Crouching beside it, he could tell it was the Guard. Dread seized him, squeezing his heart and causing his breathing to hitch. What had happened here? Were the Orcs already in the City? But if so, why hadn't they gone to the Citadel first?  
  
Realizing there was only one way to find out, the eldest son of Gondor's Steward drew his sword with an audible hiss and charged into the tombes.  
  
***************  
  
If Legolas had thought he would be able to close the gap between him and his Human friend inside the City, he was proven wrong now. While people recognized Boromir and hurried to get out of their Lord's way with only a cry of joy at his return, they placed themselves directly onto the Elf's path, slowing him down enough so he could not get to his friend. Legolas, not one to anger easily, found himself growing irritated swiftly now that Boromir's life hung in the balance.  
  
"Elbereth," he swore softly to himself, "I swear they are doing it on purpose." A wagon laded with water-filled buckets, meant to douse the fires raging in the lower Circles, was pushed on the street in front of Arod, blocking the entire way. Loosing hold on his patience, Legolas called out to Arod.  
  
"Noro lim, mellon nin!"   
  
The effect was gratyfying as the spirited horse neighed loudly and galloped towards the cart as fast as the stony underground allowed. The people surrounding the wagon took one look at the approaching couple before flinging themselves out of harm's way. Arod didn't slow down even a bit as he jumped the obstacle and ran on as soon as he landed on the other side. After a minute or so, Legolas was again able to spot Boromir and resume the 'hunt'.   
  
They followed the Human's trail, but were still too far to be heard even if Legolas would cry out. When Boromir made a sudden turn of of the main road, Legolas frowned. Why wasn't he going to the Citadel? The Elf had suspected that his friend reacted on some call of his father, like Elves were able to feel their parents and siblings.  
  
Siblings! Faramir!  
  
Maybe the call wasn't from Denethor at all, but from Faramir. It made sense, if he thought about it a little more: there indeed seemed to be a stronger bond between the brothers than between father and sons.  
  
A sudden snort and toss of the head from Arod plucked Legolas from his musings. The horse had also taken the turn and now slowed it's pace as the sudden change in atmosphere threw it of. Though not Elven-bred, the rohan horse had by now spent enough time with it's new master to become more sensitive to the world around it. He did not like this place with it's calm, almost chilling air and in slowing his pace enquired of his rider what he had to do.  
  
Legolas let the horse slow to a canter, not wanting to stop going after Boromir, but suddenly feeling more anxious than he had on the Paths of the Dead. Seeing Glír in the distance, he asked Arod to stop at the side of the other horse. Noticing the dead guard, Legolas, for the first time in his nearly three thousand years, had a flash of prescience. The image of an old Man, standing at the bedside of a younger man, surrounded by flames caused him to stagger, grabbing a handfull of Arod's mane to steady himself. The younger Man had had an uncanny likeliness to Boromir! Cursing, he pulled himself back together, and spurted into the tomb in front of him.  
  
*******************  
  
Boromir came to an abrupt stop, boots screeching on the stone floor, as he saw the scene that unfolded before him. Gandalf and Pippin stood a few meters in front of him, unmoving, seemingly as stunned as he was. One of the guards was fighting two others in an attempt to keep them away from the door that he kept closed with his free hand. The door towards one of the tombes where the dead Stewards were lain.  
  
'No,' Boromir thought, 'Oh, Faramir, please no.' His worst fears seemed to become reality. He stumbled backwards, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the wall, as the other came up to cover his eyes. 'Too late. I'm too late. Oh, Faramir, I'm so sorry.'  
  
Another voice broke through to his stunned mind. Regal and commanding, even in this place, the voice of the Steward of Gondor sounded from behind the closed door. "Haste, haste. Do as I've bidden! Slay me this renegade! Or must I do so myself?" Not understanding what was going on, Boromir let himself fall back into the shadows, hoping the situation would become clear to him. Normally there wouldn't have been a doubt on his mind as to run forward and help his father, but some things just didn't seem right to him.   
  
His father's voice was tinged with a slightly histerical edge that made him want to cringe back. And the guard that held the door closed was no stranger to him either. He recognized the man, Beregond, as a guard that was extremely loyal towards his brother. Why would he turn suddenly and become a renegade? And why was Gandalf here? Surely the Wizard was needed in the City?  
  
The door burst open, revealing his father, holding a sword and looking like an animal that had been cornered and was going to take as many of his adversaries with him into death as he could manage. But Gandalf leapt up onto the stairs, raising his hand in a spell, and Denethors blade flew from his hand to land clattering, but harmless on the floor.  
  
"What is this, my Lord?" Gandalf asked sternly, "The Houses of the Dead are no place for the living. And why do men fight here in the Hallows when there is war enough before the Gate? Or has our Enemy come even to Rath Dinen?"  
  
Denethor narrowed his eyes. "Since when has the Lord of Gondor been answerable to thee?" he asked, "Or may I not command my own servants?"  
  
"You may." Gandalf said, "But others may contest your will, when it is turned to madness and evil. Where is your son, Faramir."   
  
At the mentioning of Faramir's name, Denethor's shoulders seemed to slump ever so slightly. "He lies within, burning, already burning. They have set a fire in his flesh. But soon all shall be burned. The West has failed. It shall all go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended. Ash! Ash and smoke blown away on the wind!"  
  
Boromir heard the madness in his father's voice, and worse still, the defeat that seeped off them. Couldn't he see that there was still hope? That indeed at this very moment, Boromir himself perceived more hope than he had in the last 10 years? Aragorn, Isildurs Heir, had come. Humans, Dwarves and Elves fought together once more on the battlefield outside. This was not a time for despair, it was a time of joy and celebration.  
  
"Bring him out, Lord Steward." the Wizard entreated carefuly, recognizing the madness in the person before him even as Boromir did. "Bring your son out into the light again. There is still hope for him, for Minas Tirith even."   
  
For long moments they stood like that, Gandalf against Denethor, silent, unmoving. Then Denethor turned around and went back inside. He scooped Faramir up from his resting place on the stone table, and Boromir's heart nearly shattered as he saw the condition his brother was in. The youngest son of the Steward was very pale and trembling in the heat of the fever that coursed through him.  
  
Denethor stopped moving when he was a few steps from the door that would lead him back into the greater room. He tightened his hold on the other's body, pressing him close.   
  
"You might think you have all the answers, master Wizard, but I say this to you. You have taken my oldest from me, you will not take Faramir as well. We will die together and rejoin my wife and heir who are doubtlessly waiting for us. You speak of hope, yet I ask you what I've left to hope for. My son will die and my throne will be stolen by your pet-Ranger. I will not give up my son now." The old man drew himself up, turning towards his guards. "Come hither!" he cried, "Come, if you are not all recreant!"  
  
Two of the servants ran up to him, bearing torches, obviously seeking to set fire to the wood that Boromir saw to be stocked in the room.   
  
'No, I cannot let him do this! Faramir, there's still hope for him. Aragorn will know how to heal him, or Gandalf could do something.'  
  
Mind made up, Boromir stepped into the room firmly, shoulders set, prepared to confront his father to save his brother's life.  
  
"Father, no!" he said loudly. The room went deadly silent. Everybody turned towards the newly arrived Human. The guards gaped, one of them mouting 'ghost' as they stared in disbelieve at the 'dead' Heir of their Steward. They threw nervous glances between Boromir and his father. The ones carrying the torches stopped in their tracks, not daring to complete Denethor's command to them.  
  
"Boromir."  
  
The name was like a reverant whisper, passing nearly unnoticed of the Steward's lips. The arms that held his youngest son started to tremble as he saw his much missed Heir.   
  
"Boromir." Denethor repeated, then tore his eyes away from his eldest to look at the limp figure cradled against his chest. "You have come for your brother, have you not?" the Steward continued, "You have come to take him with you."  
  
Boromir looked at his father with amazement. Was this the proud man he had last seen upon his departure from Minas Tirith? Surely this could not be the harsh, yet wise father he had known all his life? His eyes then flicked to Faramir, who had remained unconsious throughout the whole scene. Gods, he looked so pale, there had to be something seriously wrong with him. Yes, he would have to find Gandalf or Aragorn to look at him, since he was fairly sure that nobody in the House of Healing could mend whatever wounds he had.  
  
"Father, you mustn't do this. Take Faramir to the Houses of Healing, let somebody care for him."  
  
Denethor blinked, staring at Boromir as if he had just told him that the sky was green. His son's words didn't seem to reach him, but Boromir took heart as he saw that, even though the Steward didn't hand Faramir over, neither did he seem inclined to have the both of them burned anymore. Deciding to press things a little, he started walking towards his father, standing still at the beginning of the stairs.  
  
"You will keep him safe until I join you?" Denethor's voice broke a little, "I promise it won't take long. I will not desert you a second time." The Steward waited for Boromir's startled nod, then shifted his hold on his youngest and motioned for his heir to come and take his brother from him.  
  
'Desert me? And what business would he have that require him to be anywhere else than with us now?' Boromir knew that something wasn't right, but decided to take his problems one step at a time. First he would get his brother out of here, then he would try to coax his father into leaving this place of madness. Reaching out, he took a firm hold on Faramir and lifted him into his own arms.  
  
His father smiled at him, then frowned and smiled again, his gaze drawn by something that lay behind Boromir's left shoulder. Turning slightly, expecting perhaps Gandalf or Beregond to come and take Faramir, he instead caught sight of Legolas. The Elf had just entered the room and had stopped in his tracks as he felt the tension that hung thick in the air.  
  
"My Lord." Denethor said, bowing his head to the Elf and taking a step back from his sons.  
  
'My Lord?' Boromir was stunned. Never had his father referred to another as 'my Lord' for as long as he could remember. So why would he do such a thing now. And for an Elf no less. Glancing at Legolas, he saw his own confusion in his friends eyes, although his features betrayed nothing of it.  
  
"Have you come to accompany my sons to their mother? Will you not wait for me then?" Denethor's gaze was still on Legolas, thusly missing the dawning apprehension on his son's face.  
  
'Elbereth! He thinks Legolas is here to take us to the place where the Dead go!' While Boromir tried to think of what to do to make his father see that he was still alive, the Steward levelled a gaze on the two servants still carrying the torches. The guards squirmed a little and then slipped passed their Lord to light the kindling in the room behind him. It didn't take long before the wood caught fire and the heat and smoke started to build in the small room.  
  
Boromir shifted his hold on Faramir slightly, handing him over to the Elf. Knowing his brother to be safe now, he concentrated on getting through to his father. He stepped closer to him, near enough to touch, but holding back from the act, afraid to spook him.  
  
"Father, come with us now, please." he reached out his hand, seeking to take that of the Steward and lead him away from the now raging fire in the room behind the older Man.  
  
"I will, my son, I will see you both soon. Tell your mother I'm comming." A small smile graced Denethor's lips, and with those words he took two rapid paces backwards and entered the flames.  
  
"Noooooooooooooo!" Boromir wailed, jumping forward without thinking, only knowing that his father needed him now. Another cry of agony met his own as the Steward of Gondor was overtaken by the fire that run everywhere around him. He was nearly into the flames himself, their heat pulsing against him, as he felt strong arms wrap around him and pull him back. He fought them, trying frantically to twist free, but they were stronger then he was, and in the end he fell back against the chest of his savior.  
  
"Valar, Boromir, I'm sorry." he heard a soft soothing voice in near his ear. Looking at the one who cradled him protectively, keeping his legs from giving in, he stared into the compassionant eyes of Legolas. He turned back to the fire, staying in the other's arms until it had died down and all that was left within the small romm was ashes, the stone bed and a stone very much like the one that had been thrown at them from the pinnacle of Isengard.  
  
**********************************  
  
Poor Boromir. Why do I do this to him? Oh well, it makes a great story :)  
  
That's all for this time. Until the next one! 


	11. Fathers, brothers and war

okee, this took waaaaaaaaay too long :( Thanks for all those who waited anyway!  
  
skahducky: Oops, yeah well, Denethor really had to go. Sorry. Glad you won't shoot me though :)  
  
Haldir's Heart and Soul: Yeah, poor Boromir, that was a pretty cruel thing to do to him. Hope he won't come after me for it :)  
  
Alynna Lis Eachann: Thanks! I wasn't really sure it would be believable, so it's good to know you liked it  
  
BenRG: An 8! I can't believe I got an eight! Whiiiiiiiii *grimlock bounces off to write some more depressing stuff*  
  
So here it is: the next - and long-awaited - chapter !  
  
Oh yeah: I still don't own a thing :( It's still Tolkien's  
  
Chapter 11: Fathers, brothers and war  
  
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"Boromir? Boromir! Please, my friend, wake up!"  
  
Undefinable sounds slid around the cocoon that sheltered him from the outside world. Inside, Boromir heard only the sounds of his breathing and heartbeat. Both seemed too loud to be real, one a rasping undertone to the thrumming of the other. He could feel every patch of his skin, every drop of blood as it moved through his veins.  
  
Outside of this cocoon there were flashes of light and color. And voices. But he could not understand them, he heard only the sounds, like he didn't know the language that was spoken. They sounded urgent, insistent, and he thought that he had heard his own name, but he could not be certain.  
  
The only thing he could be certain of was a sharp pain where his heart was and the dreadfull images of his father being consumed by flames playing in front of his eyes. He saw it time and time again, without being able to do anything about it.  
  
"He can't hear us, Legolas." A deep booming voice, "Perhaps it would be best to bring them both to the healers."  
  
"No. I can get through to him, I know it." those melodic sounds again, and somebody seemed to shake him. "Boromir, I know you grieve for your father, but others need you now. Faramir needs you."  
  
Faramir? Now that was a name he knew, an important name. Maybe he should try to concentrate on the voices, maybe that would make the pictures of the flames go away.  
  
"You have to pull yourself together, Boromir. Your friends need you."  
  
His friends. He could remeber his friends: the Dwarf, Aragorn and Legolas, who was holding him now. Did they need him? Why?  
  
"Your people need your guidance, Boromir. You are their Steward now, you must lead them in this war."  
  
Bormir blinked his eyes once, then focused them on the blue ones of the Elf that was holding him. "Faramir?" he managed to ask.  
  
"Your brother is very ill, Boromir, but we will do everything in our power to bring him back to good health." Gandalf said from his right side, "The servants are bringing him to the House of Healing as we speak."  
  
"The war?" he rasped out next.  
  
"Still raging, my friend. You'll have plenty of time for revenge." the Elf said with a little smile. Boromir smiled back. He would do his task as Steward, and he would help his King in winning this war. And while he was doing that he could revenge his father.  
  
Struggling upright, he faced Legolas and Gandalf. Both seemed to be waiting for his next move, Gandalf looking toughtfull, and the Elf with an eager light in his eyes. "Lord Wizard, I would ask you to look after my brother, while I rejoin my King in battle. The ruling of the City is therefore temporarily in your hands." Gandalf nodded, a slight smile around his weathered lips. "As for you, master Elf, it would honour me if you were to fight by my side." Legolas bowed his head in aquiesence, then followed his friend out of the building until they came again to the horses.  
  
Sparing a brief glance and a muttered prayer for the dead guard that still lay there, the new Steward of Gondor mounted his horse, turning it back from whence they had come. A new determination was visible in his posture. His father was dead, and his brother might still pass beyond his reach, but that could not stop him from doing his tasks as Steward. The first Steward in a long time that had a King to fight for. He would not let Aragorn down, nor desert his people in their time of need. If necessary, he would die himself before he let Minas Tirith fall into the hands of Saurons minions.  
  
Glancing beside him at the Elf, he gave a wicked smile. "Ready to ride, my friend?"  
  
Legolas looked at the sky for a short while, then gave Boromir a wicked grin of his own. Both men yelled to their horses and they flew back out into the main street, heading for the gates. Around them, the scene was not so different from when they had been going in: fires were still raging, but they paid them no head, drawing sword and knives as they came upon their first ennemies just two paces outside the city. The Orcs, not suspecting riders to come out, were felled in mere moments.   
  
"There!" Legolas shouted, his sharp eyes having picked out across the field the standard of Aragorn. Boromir turned his horse in that direction and stormed up to the next group of dark minions that dared stand between the Steward of Gondor and his King. The few swords that did hit him, glanced off his armour without doing any damage.   
  
Legolas had to be a little more careful. Not having any chainmail or plates between him and his adversaries, he relied on his speed and agility and on his horse to take him out of the way of any blow coming for him.   
  
Boromir checked on his friend as soon as his own foes gave him the chance, but found that the Elf could well hold his own. He could not help smiling slightly at the thought that the two off them were a very small repeat of the Last Alliance: Man and Elf riding and fighting side by side, and the thought warmed him. Whatever happened during this day: he would face it together with his friends.  
  
As they neared the group around Aragorn, Boromir recognized another of the faces that surrounded the Dunadan, that of his own uncle: Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth and his knights were superb knights, and Boromir felt assured once more that victory would be theirs at the end of this day. But until then, a lot of fighting awaited them. Driving his horse up next to Aragorns, he made a half bow out of the saddle.  
  
"My King, your Steward awaits your command."  
  
Aragorns eyes widened just a fraction at this news, for he seemed to understand at once what it entailed. Denethor, son of Ecthelion, was no longer, but his son was, and Boromir seemed determined to rectify the mistake he had made at Elronds Coucil in not recognizing Aragorn as his rightful Lord.  
  
And so, with a grateful bow and a nod to his Steward, Strider the Ranger claimed his birthright as King of Gondor and Arnor, in the middle of one of the greatest battles that Middle-Earth had ever witnessed since the First Age. Everywhere around them, people yelled and cried in pain or triumph, but for Aragorn and Boromir nothing existed in those few moments but the great harmony between a loved and revered King and his loyal and faithful Steward. Later, both would say to their friends that never before had they experienced such a peace in knowing who and what they were, and that for the first time in their lives, they accepted it with their heart and soul.  
  
The moments was broken shortly after, when the cries finally pierced their haze, and they were pulled back into the battle. With the help Aragorn had brought from Pelargir, the fight slowly turned to give Gondor the advantage, but Boromir could easily see that victory was still several hours away. The Southrons were still gathering around the Mumakil, who stood out like giant grey rocks. The horses would not go near them, so the Rohirrim left them for the footsoldiers. The Steward had seen this tactic before: the only way to get to the soldiers under the beasts, was to first kill the grey giants, and that could only be done by hitting them with arrows and spears. But if the archers of Gondor wanted to hit them, they would have to move close enough to be targets themselves for the Southrons.   
  
"What we need is a bow with a superior range." Boromir muttered to himself. He let his eyes wander over the field until they fell on the Elf. But Legolas was alone, and there were still 5 of the Mumakil, wich would all have to be hit several times before the beasts would even feel the sting through their though hides. Unless ... Unless that trick with the Moria cavetroll was also applicable to the Oliphaunts.  
  
Whirling his horse around until it came to rest next to Arod, he bowed over to Legolas. Indicating the points of their ennemies defence, Boromir asked: "Ever fought one of those?" The Elf followed his line of sight, assesed the animals for a short while and then shook his head in the negative.  
  
"Do you think that they would die from an arrow into their mouths, like the cavetroll did?"   
  
Legolas scrutinized the Mumakil a few moments longer. "It could be possible, but I cannot garantee it. If the creatures brain is behind the palate, it should work."   
  
Boromir frowned. It was a gamble, but still the best opportunity they had. "Let's try it then." he said, urging Glír forward with a gentle tap to the flanks. Legolas steered Arod behind him and together they approached the archers that were assailing the Mumakil that stood closest to them. They stopped just out of the reach of the Haradrim archers, dismounting and assesing the best place for the Elf to take his shot. Boromir had his sword out in case he would have to protect his companion while he was weelding his bow. The Gondorian soldiers, reckognizing the son of their Steward, made way for him, although Legolas received many a strange look.   
  
The Mumakil was now maybe 300 meters away from them, and neither the bows of the Gondorians - who had retreated when they saw the hopelesness of their situation - nor those of the Haradrim could fly far enough to reach the other party. Legolas reached back to take an arrow from his half-full quiver and put it on the string, but did not draw yet. Both warriors watched the great beast in front of them as it roared and swerved it's head about. Boromir could see how difficult this task would be, even for as great an archer as Legolas. The beasts trunk and tusks protected its mouth quite severly and the only time to make the shot would be when it lifted its head and bellowed. The Mumakils movements were unpredictable, and the lifting of its head neverly very long, but they could get lucky.  
  
"Will you still try?" he asked the Elf beside him.  
  
Legolas looked at the Oliphaunt, then at the soldiers around him, who had stilled in expectation of new orders. Boromir saw the emotions playing in the Elfs eyes for a moment. If he did not succeed in this, these Men would probably dy trying to bring it down from closer range, but if he didn't even try... The decision was quickly made as Legolas nodded and moved a pace ahead to have all the room he needed for his shot.  
  
Bows and archery were not Boromirs speciality. Indeed, they were more suited for his younger brother, but through Faramir, the Steward of Gondor knew much about them. He could asses the strength needed to draw one, and the range they could span. He therefor knew that the pull of the great Lorien bow would be beyond anybody but a well-trained Elvish archer, and even they would only be able to keep it drawn for a limited period before their muscles began to tremble and the shot would go wild. He gave a small prayer to the Valar that they would be with Legolas on this one.  
  
The Elf frowned in concentration as he half-drew his bow. He would have to be very quick on this shot, or he would miss the opportunity once it presented itself. They waited for perhaps a quarter of an hour before the Mumakil became frustrated enough to lift his head, exactly as they had wanted it to. Legolas could hear Boromir draw in a gasp as he drew the bow to its end and swivelled it at its target, letting go of the string, all in a matter of seconds.  
  
The great bow sang as the arrow wizzed away across the field, gaining speed and altitude, flying into the Mumaks mouth. Legolas lowered his bow as the beast trupetted in anger and pain.  
  
Any moment now, Boromir thought to himself, any moment it will fall.  
  
But it did not. The arrow had obviously done harm to the animal, but it seemed insufficient to kill it. The soldiers behind Boromir let out the breaths they had held and began to ready their bows again. Legolas stood beside him again, shoulders slightly slumped in defeat, and gave an appologetic look to his Human friend. The Steward opened his mouth to thank the Elf for trying, when suddenly a soldier behind him, released a joyful cry.  
  
"Mylord, look! The beast is swaying."  
  
And indeed it was. At first, they had mistook the movement of the colos as a repositioning of its feet, but now it was clear that the gigantic beast had been hit hard enough to go down after all. The trembles that shook the pillar-like legs became more violent and finally the beast collapsed sideways, burying a great part of the hiding Southrons under its bulk. The rest ran screaming for cover.  
  
For a moment, the Gondorians just stood there, awestruck at the damage the beasts fall had done to its masters, then Boromir trust his sword up in the air and heaved a victorious battlecry of "Gondor!"  
  
"Gondor!" the soldiers answered as they used their bows to quickly lay down their ennemies before they recovered. Swords were drawn and the Southrons swiftly dispatched with. As Boromir looked around, he saw that two other of the Mumakil had already gone down, and one other was stampeding back towards the Anduin. Quickly he pulled at Legolas' sleeve, dragging him with him in the direction of the last beast.  
  
Gondorian soldiers, Haradrim and Orcs were fighting each other between the legs of the creature, and its wild stamping caused many an ally or ennemy to be crushed or swung away. The two friends ran around the beast, giving it a wide bearth to avoid the sudden sweeps of its tusks. Taking up position in front of the Mumak, Legolas began to draw his bow, waiting for the right moment. Glancing at the fighting a few hundred meters away, Boromir knew he would have to time his retreat of the troups under the beast just right. He didn't want those men to die there if it lay in his power to stop it.   
  
Just then the Mumak threw its head back, hit by a spear of one of the soldiers from Dol Amroth. Legolas loosed his arrow. It flew true from the bow, whistling slightly through the air and disappearing into the open mouth. A howl of pain echoed over the field.  
  
"To me, Gondor, to me!" Boromir shouted, hoping the men could disengage themselves quickly enough. The Oliphaunt was already swaying dangerously when the first of the soldiers hewed down his ennemy and retreated to where Boromir stood. One by one, others followed. The Southrons, who stood directly under their waning cover, looked around in surprise as they too noticed the shaking that took the great beast. The last of the Gondorians came to a stop a few meters away from their Lord, and some of the Southrons had already fled when the final Mumak swayed to far and hit the ground hard, crushing those few who were still in the way.  
  
Shouts of victory sounded over the Pelennor and Boromir drew Legolas into a bear hug. The Elf had just enough time to rescue his bow from becoming trapped in his friends enthousiasm, before he was pressed tightly against the Human.  
  
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Relaxing his tired muscles for the first time in hours, Boromir let himself drop down in a chair beside the bed that held his younger brother. He hadn't taken his armour of, but had come straight here as the fighting had stopped, his concern for Faramir not allowing him any peace of mind. Gandalf had watched over him, and to his surprise Boromir found that the Lady Eowyn and Merry also lay in the Houses after commiting great deeds. Attendents sometimes came by to see if their condition improved, but were unable to help them any further.  
  
Heaving a sad sigh, he knew he would never forgive himself if Faramir were to die. He could not shake the feeling that he had somehow let him down, although he knew there was nothing he could have done. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and he gave the Elf a sad smile of gratitude. He had asked Legolas to take some rest, but the Elf had refused to leave his friends side and now sat on another chair, offering support by just being there. Gimli had come to check on them quickly, and was now in the room with Merry.   
  
Boromir rubbed his temples, trying to dissipate the tension he felt behind his eyes. One of the Healers assistents, an elderly woman by the name of Ioreth, had cried when she saw Faramir so still on the bed. He hadn't paid too much attention to her rambling, but apparently Gandalf had, since the Wizard had disappeared shortly after.  
  
Voices sounded at the entrance to the room and shortly after, Aragorn appeared in the doorway, Imrahil and Éomer standing behind him. The Ranger gave him a sad look, noticing the still figure of Faramir on the bed.   
  
"How long has he been like this?" Aragorn asked him, seating himself on the edge of the bed, examining the younger of the brothers.  
  
Boromir shook his head. "Pippin says he has been like this since he came back from trying to retake Osgiliath. That would be two days ago."  
  
"He was hit by an arrow." Prince Imrahil put in, putting a comforting hand on his nephews shoulder and squeezing softy. "I thought it looked like a Southron arrow, but then he got very ill."  
  
"An arrow wound, weariness, grief for his father's mood and above all, Black Breath. His will is quite powerfull to have lasted so long." Aragorn judged, "We will have to act quickly." He stood up again and turned towards the old woman that was the Healers Aid. "Tell me, Lady, have you any athelas in this House?"  
  
Boromir again looked to his brother. He could only gues at what had happened to Faramir in the months he had been gone. Going from the reactions people had to him, they had obviously thought him dead. Might it be the case that Denethor had turned against his youngest, somehow blaming him for not being the one that had been killed. It was a public secret that Boromir was the more favored son of the Steward, after all, even though he could not match Faramir in matters of diplomatic nature.  
  
The conversation around him waned and he was vaguely aware of Ioreth leaving the room, but he didn't even look up. He thought of his little brother, imagining what it would have been like for him to be the Heir of the Stewardship of Gondor. What it would be like, knowing that your father deemed you unworthy of the position, probably even of being alive. He imagined the despair and the knowledge that even if the upcomming battle would somehow be won, he would still be only the second son, and his father, whose love he craved above all others, would still hate him.  
  
Boromir bowed over to his brother and kissed his forehead softly. "Do not give up yet, little brother." he whispered in the others ear, "I need you, your family needs you. There is still so much to see and do for you: the splendor of our city under a King, the Elves. Remeber you always wanted to see an Elf when you were little? There's one sitting beside you even as I speak. Please, Faramir, please don't leave." He stopped and swallowed hard, only straightening again when he had conquered his rising tears.  
  
Soon after, the herb-master entered the room. Boromir had never really liked the man: he had the tendency to look down upon those he deemed less learned then himself.   
  
Not seeing Boromir, he estimated that Aragorn was in charge, although his eyebrows rose at the sight of the Rangers clothes, spattered with dirt and blood. "Your Lordship asked for kingsfoil, as the rustics name it, or athelas in the noble tongue, or to those who know somewhat of the Valinorean ..."  
  
Boromir groaned. "What does it matter what it is called!" he shouted at the poor, now cowering herb-master, "Do you have it or not?!" He stood and advanced on the other until he stood but a pace away. "We will not waste time on learned names when my brothers lies dying."  
  
"N-n-no, m'Lord. I'm terribly sorry, but we do not have it. It has no virtue that we know of, save perhaps to sweeten a fouled air, or to drive away some passing heaviness." The herb-master looked throughly ruffled now, standing face to face with his Steward, shaking slightly. "Although some older people still use it."  
  
Before Boromir could retort to that, Aragorn cut in. "Then please, go and find some old man of less lore and more wisdom who keeps some in his house." The Gondorian healer could not seem to get out of there fast enough, dreading the wrath of his Steward.  
  
Said Steward collapsed onto the chair he had previously occupied and took his brother's hand in his again. Aragorn collected warm water from the women and sat himself on the other side of Faramir's bed. After he had put everything in place for when he would need it, he put a hand upon the young man's brow. Bending his head, he began to softly call Faramir's name.  
  
It seemed to those others present, that while Aragorn voice grew softer, his skin took on a sickly greyish color. Boromir looked on with concern in his eyes, dreading to loose both King and brother if this lasted much longer. Fortunately, a child came running into the chamber, and stopped in front of the King, offering a cloth with some athelas leaves.   
  
"It's kingfoil, Sir, but not fresh, I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at least. I hope it will serve, Sir?" Then the boy looked upon Faramir and burst into tears.  
  
Aragorn looked up from where he had been bown over his patient. "Stay and be comforted." he said to the youngling, although his eyes were locked on Boromir, "The worst is now over." Boromir watched as he breathed onto the leaves and crushed them into the water, lightening the air around them, driving the shadows of despair away. Then he beckoned for Boromir to call out to his brother, to bring him back towards the world of the living, while he himself went to see to Eowyn and Merry.  
  
Leaning forward again, so that he was in his brother's line of sight, Boromir began to call him by name. He concentrated on Faramir, trying to bring him back by using his will.   
  
He must have sat like that for quite a while, calling Faramir's name again and again, until suddenly, his brother opened his eyes.  
  
"Boromir?" he asked, voice hoarse because of his long silence, "You live!"  
  
"Aye, as do you." the Steward said, pulling the other in a gentle embrace. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, little brother. I would die if you did."  
  
Faramir nodded sleepily. "I promise." he mumbeled before falling back into sleep, although it was a far healthier one this time, while his brother and Legolas continued to keep vigilance at his bed through the rest of the day and the following night.  
  
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A/N: Apparantly Oliphaunts can only be killed in one shot if the arrow pierces their eye, but I liked the idea of the cavetroll so much that Legolas gets to pull that stunt again :) Sorry :)  
  
next time: the captains of the West make their plans to boldly attack the Ennemy. And Faramir meets his brother's savior. 


	12. 12 a : A most welcome visitor

Seeing as I have a bit of a creative problem with the second half of this chapter, I'll give you this chappie in two parts.  
  
skahducky: Glad you're still with me :)  
  
Mirrowa: Thanks for the invite, I'll come and see when I have a little more time at hands  
  
Jessie-kins: Yes, I do have a tendency for long paragraphs g I kinda get carried away sometimes :)  
  
rindjanie: g I like him better alive as well :) Thanks for the compliment!  
  
There was one other person who reviewed, but I can't find his/her name at the moment. You are thanked all the same, and here it is: Faramir's meeting with his brother's savior!  
  
Chapter 12 (a): A most welcome visitor  
  
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The early-morning sun hit his eyes as he opened them, blinding him with the force of her splendor. Groaning, Faramir shut them again, seeing wild jags of gold and red behind his eyelids. After they had slowly cleared up, he opened them again, only slits this time, to avoid the same problem he had encountered minutes earlier. The ceiling came into focus, and for a moment he wondered where he was, since it was obvious to him that this wasn't his own room in Minas Tirith, nor the ceiling of Henneth Annun.  
  
Cautiously he turned his head to the side somewhat and finally recognized the chamber. It was one of the rooms in the Houses of Healing.  
  
With a sigh he let his head back down, only to jerk it back up as a light voice addressed him from his side.  
  
"You awaken at last! How do you feel, my Lord? Do you wish for me to fetch one of the Healers?"  
  
Tilting his head sideways, so as to be able to look on his visitor, Faramir gasped as he saw the Elf that was sitting in a chair, leaning forward slightly to check on him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, not finding any words to speak. 'Ai, you fool' he scolded himself within his own thoughts, 'your one chance to speak to one of the Fair Folk, and your tongue and wit abandons you!'  
  
Legolas, meanwhile, frowned a little in concern. The Human seemed unable to speak, and he knew too little of their race to know if Boromir's brother was in need of assistance or no. Deciding to take the certain before the uncertain, he stood and moved towards the door, intent on finding one of the assistents to tell them Lord Faramir had awakened. Surely they would know what to do. He stopped at the door, reaching for the handle and addressed his charge, turning to face him: "I will fetch someone to have a look at you. Please do not move too much in the meantime, for I fear your brother would have my hide if I allowed any evil to befall you." And with that he opened the door and disappeared through it.  
  
Faramir groaned miserably. 'Congratulations! He is gone now, and no doubt will not want to be in the company of one so rude as to just stare at him without even an explanation.' He tried to lift himself slightly, but found that he could not make it into a sitting position. 'I will just have to lie here as he said.' He thought, feeling throughly miserable. Many questions flowed around in his mind. What had become of his Rangers? What of the city itself? It had not entirely fallen, otherwise he would not be lying here, but maybe part of it was in the Enemies hand. And what of his father? The Elf had mentioned Boromir, but not Denethor. And an Elf! How did he get here?  
  
The door to his room opened again, and he looked up, half-hoping it would be the Firstborn, but alas, it was only an assistant. The young man smiled at him shyly, before he came closer.  
  
"It is good to see you awake, my Lord!" he exclaimed, the smile on his face stretching. "We were all very concerned about you." He moved around the bed, helping his patient to sit up against the headboard while he swiftly examined the wounds. "They are coming along nicely, my Lord. But then again, you were healed by the King himself."  
  
"The King!" Faramir whipped his head around to look the assistant straight in the eyes, "Gondor's King?"  
  
The poor assistant blushed bright red and averted his eyes, knowing well the rumor that said the youngest of the sons of the former Steward could read ones mind. "Forgive me," he mumbled softly, "it is not my place to speak about such things. You should speak to your brother about this. I will leave you to rest some more, my Lord." And with a slight bow, the throughly flustered youth scurried out of the room quickly, not giving Faramir any time to intervene.  
  
Still resting his back in the pillows that were propped up against the headboard, Faramir took the time to turn this new piece of information around in his mind. 'The King ... so the line is finally restored. Whoever he is, could not have picked a better moment. The people will need a strong leader to guide them through this and father has behaved rather strangely since we thought Boromir had been killed.' He frowned as a new idea took form. 'Poor father! He will never have a son rule Minas Tirith now. Ai, what a mighty stroke to bring against him. But at least he still has Boromir to comfort him.'   
  
"I hope you are hungry."   
  
Faramir's head jerked back towards the door at those words. As a ranger, he should have heard the steps of his visitor, alertness had been his strongest asset for survivel in Ithilien. However, as he saw the Elf that stood in the doorway with a tray of food, he knew he could not have heard him. The stealth of these beings was the stuff of legend.  
  
His golden visitor shook his head gently, smiling. "They would not let me go without this."  
  
Faramir felt a smile tugging at his own lips. It changed into a chuckle as his stomach informed him that he could indeed use the food. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping, or how long he had been unconscious before his Healing. "I guess it is good that they insisted, since I seem to indeed be hungry."  
  
This, in turn, earned him a smile from his visitor. The Elf came alongside the bed and put the tray down in Faramir's lap, giving him the spoon he had been carrying.  
  
The Man accepted them gratefuly, then reached his free hand out to introduce himself. "I am Faramir, son of the Steward Denethor. Might I have the pleasure of knowing my visitor's name?"  
  
The Elf cocked his head slightly, regarding the outstreched appendage with slight curiosity, until he remembered this costum of Men. He smiled again, and shook the proffered hand. "Well met, my Lord Faramir. I am Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm." Retaking his seat beside the bed, he watched his friend's brother eat.  
  
Faramir was exactly like Boromir had described him: intelligent, kind and brooding. The Elf had not missed the thoughtfull frown on the young man's face as he had re-entered with the food tray. 'He will start asking questions about the events leading to his Healing pretty soon. And I will have to be carefull in my answers, lest he deduces more from my words than what I wish to let him know.' Boromir had asked him not to mention their father's mental desillusions yet, and Legolas had to agree with his reasoning. Faramir was still too weakened to deal with all of this. Best his own brother tell him when he was back to his duties, or had something else to distract him.  
  
He was aware of the furtive glances the Human cast him when he thought Legolas could not see them. 'Ai, he seems to think I will disappear in thin air in front of him!' the Elf thought with amusement. He watched silently as the younger of Denethor's sons ate the soup that he had provided for him. He had felt a strange protectiveness as he had sat beside the bed, watching Faramir sleep. 'Maybe it is because Boromir told so many tales about his brother, that I feel I have already known him for a long time. And he is a lot younger than I am.'  
  
They sat in silence until Faramir had finished his soup. The young man's stomach would still be pretty uneasy, so the Healers had decided to give him only this in the beginning to get him back to full strength. Legolas watched as his charge contemplated what to do with the tray. The Elf quickly took it and placed it on the table that stood behind him.  
  
"Boromir asked me to keep watch over you until you awoke." the Elf started the conversation. "He also wanted me to convey his pardon that he could not be with you now, but he has been called to attend a council with the other leaders of the West."  
  
Faramir nodded slowly, digesting this information. He again felt that rush of warmth going through him at the renewed knowledge that his brother was still among the living. The reason for that could undoubtedly wait, there were a few more pressing questions at the moment. Deciding to jump straight into the deep, he turned his head towards the fair being beside his bed. "Will the King be present in this council?"  
  
Legolas didn't let his mask of calm aloofness slip. 'This boy is fast!' he thought admiringly. Out loud he only said: "Indeed, he will be."  
  
"And my father, will he be there as well."  
  
'Aiya! That question I did not need!' Instead of answering immediately, Legolas took his some time to study theyoung mortal in front of him. How much of the truth could he impart? He could not lie about the fact that the Steward of Gondor had found his untimely death during this war, but he could slightly play with the facts concerning his manner of passing. Not wanting to make the Human nervous with too long a silence, Legolas leaned forward a little, resting his underarms on his thighs.  
  
"No, the Lord Denethor will not be there." he gave a small sigh, "I am sorry to tell you this Faramir, but your father perished in the battle, trying to protect you." Not the entire truth perhaps, but close enough. Lord Denethor had seen them as enemies in the end, for trying to take away his youngest. Better that Faramir knew his father had loved him in the end, than to know the full tale of the Stewards madness.  
  
Another long silence stretched between them although it was not an unpleasant one. Faramir's hands were busily playing with the sheet that covered him as he digested the information.   
  
'Dead, my father is dead.' somehow this statement seemed even more unreal than the idea that his brother had died somewhere on a far off battlefield. Loving or no, Denethor had been a constant in Faramir's life. The respected and even somewhat feared father that he would do anything for. The one for whose love and respect he had fought his entire life. And now that person was dead, and what was more, he had died defending him, his youngest and most unwanted son. 'He loved me in the end.' the realisation sent another thrill of warmth through his body, and he felt strangely at peace. That what he had fought for so long, had been achieved.  
  
'But there is something he doesn't tell me.' the young man thought, casting a short sideways glance at the Elf. 'He would not lie, but would he tell the whole truth?' This was a question he could not answer, for he knew not enough off the person he was contemplating to make any accurate guess. 'I will have to ask Boromir when I see him next.' he could trust his brother to tell him the truth, no matter how bad it would be.  
  
"You have travelled with my brother?" he asked and smiled when the Legolas nodded. "I thought so, Frodo and Sam mentioned you."  
  
That got an interesting reaction. Legolas arched his eyebrows, and the look he gave Faramir turned nearly uncomfortably intense. "You have talked to Frodo and Sam of the Shire."  
  
"I have. My company ran into them in Ithilien." Noticing the Elf's unease he quickly continued. "Do not worry, I did not take it from them. They were set free to continue their journey." Legolas nodded and remained deep in thought for some time, until Faramir tired from the silence. "Come, my friend, tell me about the journey you made with my brother."  
  
And so they whiled away the day, Legolas only stopping once in his tale, to fetch Faramir some more to eat. When the evening was nearing, the Elf's tale had reached the point where they stood upon the Fields of Pelennor. Faramir had listened intently all the time, sometimes asking a question about this or that. He had heard the first part of the tale from the Hobbits of course, but he found the rising and falling rythem of Legolas' voice soothing.  
  
Of a sudden the Elf stopped talking, turning his head towards the door. As it opened a moment later, it revealed Boromir, whose face lighted up when he caught sight of his brother.  
  
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I'm hoping to get the other part of this chapter out soon. Boromir and his brother really need to talk :)  
  
Anyway: hope you enjoyed! Review please? g 


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